Maximum Loss
by solveariddle
Summary: AU post 6x18 Lauren. Doyle is dead and Prentiss back at the BAU. When their latest case reveals a connection with Emily's past, the BAU team is alarmed – and rightfully so. Rating due to the grim atmosphere of the story.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: My second story will be multi chaptered. Not sure how many chapters since I haven't figured out all the details yet. But I am confident that the characters will tell me what to do as the story continues (and of course I do have a rough storyline). Story takes place in an AU post 6x18 Lauren. Doyle is dead and Prentiss back at the BAU. When a serial killer starts a killing spree and the victims look exactly like Emily, the BAU team is alarmed – and rightfully so. Doyle might be dead, but he still poses a threat. There will be some dark stuff in the following chapters. Oh, and JJ is back. The good old times! Have fun! Reviews are appreciated.**

They found her! Her team didn't give up on her! The relief was overwhelming and she let go…

Morgan's face… He talked to her, but she couldn't hear his words, couldn't focus. Light… brighter than anything she ever had seen. Freezing cold.. from deep within her. Someone held her hand… and then... nothing but darkness.

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6 months later

They all did it, but no-one talked about it. When a new case came up and they saw the pictures of the victims for the first time, each member of the BAU team compared them to him- or herself, to the other members of the team, looking for similarities.

This time it was like a slap in the face. Three women so far and they all looked exactly the same. Long dark hair, dark eyes and a slender figure. And as if that wasn't enough they all had been successful strong women, financially independent, relying on no-one but themselves in life.

It was as if the unsub killed their colleague, Special Agent Emily Prentiss over and over again. The similarity was too close to home this time and of course it was Morgan who pointed it out.

"Prentiss, who did you piss off?"

It was meant as friendly banter. They all had a deep respect for the dead and would never make fun of the horrible things human beings were capable of doing to their own race. Nonetheless sometimes it was too much and a joke was the last straw to keep them sane. They all would laugh and then go back to the gruesome hunt for the next serial killer, terrorist, whatever. Except this time Prentiss didn't laugh or make one of her usual snide remarks in return. She just stared at the photos and looked alarmingly pale. In an instant Morgan's mood switched to concern.

"Hey, what's the matter?"

But the moment was gone. She pulled herself together.

"It's nothing! Just the rib, you know, sometimes it still hurts."

Six months ago Emily Prentiss had fought her nemesis, Ian Doyle, and almost had been killed. She survived and was approved fit for service physically and mentally. Some injuries though left her in pain from time to time even these days, like a sick gift from Doyle she would never be able to get rid of. Her connection to Doyle had started out as an undercover assignment and turned into a story of love, betrayal and revenge. He had been her target and she had brought him down. That he would escape from prison and come after her hadn't been part of the plan. But now he was dead. They had caught him not long after they had found her dying on the floor in an abandoned warehouse. But she didn't die and came back to work. The family was reunited. Yet the fact that she had been an undercover agent, capable of faking a romantic relationship with a terrorist, was something some members of the team dealt better with than others.

Reid and Rossi knew that sometimes when you looked to deeply into the abyss it looked back into you. Reid had been kidnapped and tortured and was very aware of the things one was able to do to survive or to bring your nemesis down. Rossi didn't judge other people. He was too old and had seen it all. He knew that life was a bitch - on a good day.

Garcia and JJ were just glad that their friend was back. Garcia, being the lovely nerdy sweetheart she always was. JJ, being back as their liaison, having decided that her career moves were her choice and her choice only. Furthermore the team needed a blonde since Seaver was back at Quantico to complete her training.

They all knew that Morgan still had problems with the situation. It wasn't about the fact that Prentiss had slept with a terrorist, but about the lack of trust. He had felt that something was utterly wrong and she had told him nothing about the danger she and they all had been in. He knew that she only had wanted to protect them. The fact remained however that he wasn't sure what else she wasn't telling him.

Finally there was Hotch. As always he was hard if not impossible to read. Most of the time he was business as usual. Only people who knew him inside out could recognize that he checked on one member of his team with increased regularity. On the surface there was no change. Underneath they all were aware that during an operation he made sure Prentiss wouldn't be the first to go into the house of an unsub or to interview a suspect alone. She and Morgan always had been the storm troopers of their unit. Lately it was lonely for Morgan at the top and it was only a matter of time before Prentiss or Morgan would address this.

JJ continued explaining the facts. The women had been kidnapped and tortured for three days before they mercifully died of their wounds. They had to find and stop the serial killer before he took his next victim.

She flipped the file shut. "Jet's ready!" She announced.

Just an average day... just another monster to catch...

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**To be continued**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you for your interest in this story and adding it to your story alert. The main focus in this chapter is the trust issue between Morgan and Prentiss. There is also some dark stuff, but I hope I wrote it not explicit enough so that I can maintain the "T" rating. Otherwise please give me a hint. I always feel a little insecure whether I've chosen the correct rating or not (even if I of course checked the description of the categories).**

"You sure you can do this?" It was the second time Morgan asked Prentiss that.

The team had come to Chicago were the three bodies had been found. The two of them were on their drive to the morgue. Usually it was out of the question that of course she would be at his side when inspecting the bodies and talking to the coroner. Why not now? She was getting upset.

"Not you too!" She moaned in annoyance. "Isn't it enough that Hotch babysits me? I mean… It's not as if I…" She hesitated.

"…almost died?" He finished her sentence as she shook her head and turned her face away to look out of the car window.

When he realized that she wouldn't say anything he continued. "We're all glad you're back. But you have to give us a little leeway here. We just care. No-one thinks you're not fit for use. We just want to protect you. Like you wanted to protect us. And these women look exactly like you. It's scary! Even I am worried. So I would fully understand if you skipped the parade."

Game, set and match! Her annoyance was gone. She smiled wistfully. "Thank you, Morgan. I mean it. I appreciate that you care, all of you. It's just that I don't want to be thought of as a victim. And this case victimizes me all over again. I hate this!" The last three words came out as a mixture of desperation and strength.

"Ok!" He nodded. "I won't question your ability to deal with this case, but allow me to question mine. I might need to assure myself from time to time that it's not you on the gurney, that you're alive." She gave him a short glance and nodded as he stopped the car.

They had reached the morgue. The parade was about to start.

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Sometimes Garcia hated her job. Wasn't it enough that these women had to die in a horrible way? And that they creepily resembled her colleague and friend? Now she had just found out that there had been similar killings several years ago. There were some differences, but the torture modus was obviously identical. God, sometimes she really hated her job. No-one was supposed to know that many details about torture modi.

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"What was that all about?" Prentiss and Morgan were still outside the morgue. His phone had rung and Garcia had told him everything about her discovery. Now Morgan gave the details short and crisp to Prentiss.

"Seems as if our man isn't a beginner. The more so we have to catch him fast." He turned around to walk into the morgue.

With his back to Prentiss he couldn't see her struggling to keep up her strong facade. Until now she hadn't been sure. It could have been a coincidence. There were too many sick people out there. Now she was dead certain. It was him.

The visit in the morgue was surreal. Prentiss ensured that she always stood behind Morgan. After their earlier discussion he wouldn't mind her backing away a little. He would think of it as a responsible behavior to deal with her situation, to not rush things, when it rather was sheer panic. It would have been her job to watch every detail, to register every torture wound, but she couldn't bring herself to look that closely. Pictures were blurry like watching through a shaking camera. She asked the medical examiner some questions, but her voice sounded strange and far away. When they eventually walked out she inhaled the fresh air as if she had been drowning.

That - of course - brought Morgan to the scene. He didn't say anything and just touched her arm instead to reassure her that he was there and there for her. No need to say that he was more than surprised when she grabbed his wrist and held on to it.

"I have to tell you something." Her stare went right through him.

"Ok, let's sit in the car and talk there." Morgan got going, but she didn't follow and he turned around.

"No, not in the car. I have to stay outside. I need the fresh air." The more she talked in that absent-minded way, the more he felt his inside turn into ice. This wasn't good. He knew he had to listen, but he was aware that he wouldn't like what he was going to hear.

"Ok." Why kept he saying that to her when it all was anything but? "We stay here outside. Just tell me."

And so she did.

_There isn't much that she remembers. When she was undercover and posed as Doyle's love interest, he wasn't the only target. Even terrorists have rivals and she was his weakness. So one of his opponents decided that it would be a good idea to have a little fun with her. He charged a known psychopath with her kidnapping. Doyle had an important weapon deal in the pipeline. The aim was to make him cancel the deal. Otherwise he wouldn't get her back. A clear arrangement. No-one would be hurt. Except that her kidnapper was a sadist and hated women. So her torture had been effectively included. Same price, more fun._

_When she gained consciousness she was in a kind of dungeon. The taste of the narcotics burned in her mouth and nose and she suppressed the urge to throw up, a heavy headache making her dizzy. She was undressed to her underwear and her wrists and ankles were bound together. There was nothing in the small cell. Just her and a bucket. At first she didn't understand its purpose, but when time passed and she felt the need to relieve herself the function became obvious. There were other women somewhere. She could hear them scream. Without a clock or a window she wasn't able to tell what time it was though, whether it was day or night. The hours passed by and she shivered and told herself that it was just from the cold._

_Then he dragged her out of her cell. It always was dark and she couldn't get a good look at him. He was very tall and thoroughly fit. Most likely a caucasian male between 30 and 40, but she couldn't even be sure about that._

_When the pain started it was almost a relief. All the time freezing and waiting in her cell she had known that it would come and just wanted it to be over. Her body already was weakened by the anesthesia and the lack of food and water. Nevertheless she was in good shape and when he realized that she could take more than the other victims he made full use of it. A dark side in her welcomed the pain as a punishment for her undercover assignment, as her righteous retribution for faking being in love with Doyle. Soon she was in and out of consciousness, the effort to suppress her screams long gone, no-one could heard her anyway. The fantasy of her torturer apparently knew no limits. Knifes, beating, electric shocks. She had seen all this before many times when they had come to a crime scene. Now she was part of it._

_Everybody has a breaking point. She put up with the awareness that she would die, right here in this dirty dungeon. But he wouldn't let her and at some point nothing mattered anymore, she just couldn't take one more blow, one more cut, one more electrical jolt. And then he came. Doyle with his men. He saved her, carried her out of this hell hole, took care of her wounds, loved her. And this was far worse than anything else, because in a gruesome way she loved him back. At least she couldn't hate him anymore like before. Somehow they were on the same side now. He was her savior. He ended her suffering. She knew how twisted psychology in such a situation worked. Still she couldn't change the way she felt and it haunted her until today._

"Prentiss… Emily..." Morgan's voice, soft, as soft as she never had heard him speak. He stood very close to her and touched her arm again. Then his hand went up to her face and came back wet. She was crying without a sound. The tears just streamed down her face.

"Thank you for telling me." His eyes showed his anger about the horrible things she had to get through. Things that had happened before they got to know each other. Yet Derek Morgan was the kind of man who wanted to protect the people in his life. Always.

Prentiss struggled for composure. She was embarrassed that she had started to cry without noticing it. Embarrassment aside though a wave of relief flooded through her. It had been the right decision to tell Morgan everything. When she had realized that it had to be the same serial killer, her first reflex had been to push it to the back of her mind. When you close your eyes, the monster is not there. But then she had remembered the pain in the faces of her colleagues and friends when they had visited her in the hospital, afraid that she might die. And she could have. And would never have been able to make up for not acknowledging the truth. Yes, she had trust and commitment issues, but this had never been about trust. She trusted everyone in her team with her life. As much as Morgan banked on his physical strength when it came to protecting others, she had banked on her tactical skills to get rid of Doyle before he could hurt her team. A mistake. She had underestimated him and as a result had risked not only her own life but everyone's. The burden of guilt incriminated her ever since. She would never forget how Doyle showed her the scene on the roof and asked her to choose between Rossi and Seaver. When she had apologized to her team for not telling them early enough, for everything, they had accepted of course, told her that no excuse was needed because they knew her only intention had been to protect them. What everyone felt inside was a different story though. The road to hell is paved with good intentions and the wounds were still healing.

"I might be stubborn." Was that her own voice? It sounded hoarsely and thin. "But I tend to learn from my mistakes. Especially when I almost got someone killed."

Morgan nodded. As terrifying as her experiences had been, he felt better because he knew now that she trusted him enough to confide in him and wouldn't make the same mistake again. This time he would be able to help.

"What became of your kidnapper?" He asked and watched her eyes darken in remembrance of what had to be the worst time of her life. Then she shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know." It had been a topic never to be discussed between her and Doyle. Actually she always had thought that he had killed him. A fatal misjudgment as she knew now.

"You know that you have to report that. Everything you remember can help catch this monster." Morgan insisted and she just nodded.

Yes, she knew that. A victim, again.

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**To be continued**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: As you have for sure figured out by now the title of the story is an alteration of the episode title Minimal Loss from Season Four, so I had to put in a reference to it resp. Cyrus who beats Prentiss up badly in this episode (blink and you miss it). Again thanks for the reviews and story alerts. They make my day!**

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. Criminal Minds belongs to CBS.**

"How is she doing?" Morgan joined Hotch outside of the interrogation room. Inside were Rossi and Prentiss. After the latest revelations they all had met at the police station where they had their temporary base and had soon come to the conclusion that it would be best to let Rossi take her testimony. She trusted him and knew that he would not pass judgement on her, whatever she told him.

Morgan still was angry and overflowing with energy. Every fiber of his body wanted to catch the bastard who hurt his partner and friend. He couldn't stand that they had no trace yet, no nothing, the fear to be doomed to failure nagging at him fiercely so that he didn't notice how quiet and tense Hotch was. Motionless he stared through the small window in the door of the interrogation room and watched Rossi and Prentiss. He couldn't hear their words, but their faces gave it all away. Hotch was observing a mute dialogue of pain.

"I think she's doing okay." He said tiredly unable to even convince himself.

JJ went by and eventually Hotch turned around. "I don't understand how she can bear all this." JJ sighed. "Cyrus, Doyle, now this. Does it ever end?"

They returned to the conference room. After Garcia had overcome the rude shock that Emily also was one of the serial killer's victims she had sent them all the evidence she could find on the former case. The match was the torture modus. Whoever was responsible for this had had no special type some years ago. The victims had varied. Women, men, even one adolescent boy. And there was another difference. They all had been shot after the torture. A clean ending as if at some point it had been enough and the game had been over. Still the identical torture method was so obvious that it had to be the same serial killer. By comparing the current deeds to the information Prentiss gave them they hoped to find the desperately needed clue.

"Why did he specialize in one type?" JJ thought aloud.

"Because she's the one who got away." Hotch's voice was strained.

"And he's so angry about this that he don't even shoots them anymore to end their anguish. It has to be as cruel as possible." Reid added. He appeared to be composed outwardly. Inside he suffered tremendously though. After their first controversies he and Prentiss had become close friends. "The two super nerds." As she put it wryly. She was the only one he would invite to watch a movie in Russian with him. And she always was the first he confided in when there was something wrong. When he realized that the others were looking at him, waiting for him to continue, he cleared his throat and finished his reflections. "The only question being why he paused in between. What made him stop for some years? And why did he start now all over again?"

"No..." Morgan interrupted. "The only question is: Who is the damned guy? Where can we find him and lock him up straightaway?"

Three women in two weeks. The killer was escalating and his original target sat in the next room. The pressure to solve the case fast had just risen drastically.

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Two hours later a visibly shaken Rossi came out of the interrogation room. Reid and JJ were out talking to some witness who might or might not have seen something. Hotch sat at the conference table and reviewed the evidence they had collected so far.

Rossi threw the file on the table, meanwhile filled with lots of sheets with his handwriting. Notes he accounted significant for the further investigation. Notes that documented Prentiss' history of suffering. Evidence.

Days like this made him consider retiring. He felt weary and spent. As if they had been on the move for weeks and not only for one day.

"Anything helpful?" Hotch asked without looking up.

"I don't know." Rossi sat down next to Hotch and stared straight ahead. "I'm trying to be objective, but it's a colleague and friend who had to go through all this. I hoped to find out some things that might help, but she didn't see or hear anything of relevance while being held captive in the cell." At this Hotch looked up. He knew what that meant.

Rossi nodded. "We have to go into more details what she might have subconsciously noticed during the time she spent with him... when she was tortured." He paused. "But not now. I know time is running out, but she won't make it through another round today."

Hotch gestured consent. In the background he heard a door open and close.

"Emily is going to the hotel, to take some rest." Rossi explained. "Morgan is with her to make sure she's okay - at least as far as the circumstances allow this - and that she's safe." The beast was still out there after all.

"We'll continue tomorrow morning then." Suddenly Hotch looked much older than he was. He kept staring at the photos of the latest victims, so similar to her in appearance and yet innocent pawns in a sadistic game.

"Only one more question for today." Hotch moved the photos back and forth, rearranging them, displacement activity. The moment he realized that Rossi saw it he stopped. "Did he rape her?" Rossi wasn't surprised by the question. It was legitimate. Rape also could be an element of torture to make the victim feel helpless and at the mercy of the kidnapper. What he had not seen coming was the emotional turmoil Hotch obviously fought and for a moment he wondered whether he had overlooked something or perhaps it was just his exhaustion playing tricks on him.

"No, she wasn't raped." Rossi answered. "At least she has no recollection of it." They both fell silent for a moment. "His sadistic profile fits the one of a rapist, but there were no indications of rape in the other cases either, so I think he is not capable of performing."

"Thank you." This time Hotch looked directly at Rossi. He had withdrawn back into himself and Rossi decided that he had been mistaken. It was nothing else than professional concern. Hotch was just as shocked and moved by the whole situation as the rest of them. And now they all should better get some sleep. They had to catch a monster.

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The next morning they all were back in early, including Prentiss. No-one had slept well, but understandably Emily looked the worst with dark rims of the eyes. She apparently hadn't slept at all. Who could hold it against her?

Rossi continued taking her statement. Only this time he led her deeper into her past, trying to make her remember more details. Details she had tried very hard not to remember until now.

No, she didn't see her kidnapper once. It was dark in her cell and she was blindfolded every time he dragged her out. Yes, he talked to her, but not with his regular voice. He whispered in her ear, licked her face and laughed when she screamed. It was disgusting. Nonetheless the journey into the darkest places of Prentiss' mind had just begun.

However as much as she tried to come up with something, anything, it didn't work. She could describe the dungeon and her cell in detail. A dark, cold and hopeless place, where moisture clung to the walls and the floor. She could describe the pain, the loneliness, the endless hell, but not him, the faceless monster. She felt useless.

Rossi tried several approaches. Sometimes he was extremely gentle and sometimes he forced her to remain trapped in a certain situation she already had described to make sure that nothing was overlooked, meaning nothing was allowed to be suppressed no matter how painful. It was a dangerous game to play with her mind. He knew she was mentally stable. Yet he couldn't be sure whether she would be able to stay that way or would surrender at some point. When time evidently wore her down and she still would make no pause, refused to eat or drink, Rossi decided that it was his turn to pull the rip cord.

"You know exactly what you're doing. And I won't allow you to punish yourself for something that's not your fault." There was only softness in his voice.

Prentiss looked like hell. Her usually radiant eyes had lost every sparkle, her hair was lusterless, her shirt rumpled. It was hard to take how broken this beautiful and strong woman looked. She closed her eyes and leaned back. The game was over and there were only losers. A situation she couldn't accept.

Rossi tried again. "Emily, it's okay if you don't remember anything else. It's okay." He got up from his chair to go around the table and embrace her even if he wasn't sure whether she would let him or not. He could at least give it a shot.

Before he reached her he saw her whole body tense in the frantic effort to press a memory out that wasn't there. It was too late, he saw it in her eyes. She had pushed herself over the edge and was falling fast.

"No, damned!" She snarled. "I don't remember anything else! I always was blindfolded. I saw nothing. Just Ian, when he saved me. Just Ian."

The breakdown came expected. The words not. Rossi stood frozen a few steps away from her. Behind him the door had opened. Hotch had been on his way in just in time to hear her last sentences, to hear how she called her arch-fiend and nemesis by his first name, like a lover. Ian.

Hotch left the room.

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**To be continued**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you for your interest in my story and the reviews! This chapter was difficult for me to write. I had some trouble staying in character and hope it worked out more or less. Also it ended up darker than I originally intended it to be, but don't worry. Deep in my heart I am a sucker for the romantic stuff so the story won't always stay that dark. So please stick with me! **

Hotch never just took a walk. Nonetheless he found himself walking around. One block, two blocks, three blocks and still counting. He felt the need to run, but a man in a dark suit with a gun who ran around without a reason would attract too much attention. So he kept on walking.

_It wasn't her fault._ He kept telling himself this over and over. She had been held hostage and abused. It was a normal reaction to glorify the man who allegedly saved her, even if he only did it to abuse her himself.

_You know that he didn't abuse her. You saw the photos. She felt comfortable around him. _When he had seen the photos he hadn't needed JJ's confirmation that Prentiss was "Doyle's type". He had known instantly. You don't get so close to an extremely dangerous man without selling your soul. Except that she had sold her body along with it.

When Prentiss had disappeared there hadn't been the time to philosophize about morality or boundaries that better shouldn't be overstepped. They all had been so worried, so focused on bringing her back alive that they had concentrated on nothing but facts. Like a puzzle they had put the facts together one by one and had found her. It had almost been too late. Yet they had succeeded. During the struggle for Prentiss' life no-one had cared whether they could approve what she had done or not. So they had more or less ignored the side effect that the completed subject of the puzzle was even more confusing. A fake identity, a little boy she had to allegedly kill so that he could grow up safely, a group of highly classified agents. There was the Emily Prentiss they knew and there was this unknown person she had been or maybe still was and no piece of the puzzle managed to blend one personality into the other.

Each member of the BAU dealt differently with the situation, but the team was finding its way back together. Hotch observed this every day. He was well aware that he – as the unit chief – was supposed to treat all members of his team equally. But how deal with someone who isn't the same person anymore?

Aaron Hotchner was a man who lived by the rules, obeyed them and would never apply for exemption. So even if through all the years he might have wanted to get closer to one of his female agents, he never mentioned it, let alone acted upon it. But when he had learned that Prentiss had faked a relationship with a wanted offender, this had set off something unfamiliar and dark in him. As if she had given something to Doyle that he had denied himself.

Still he had lived by the rules. Every day. And it had slowly killed him until one day he hadn't been able to take it any longer.

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Flashback - 2 months ago

Hotch was the only one who hadn't checked on her personally. All the other team members made short visits from time to time, especially now that Prentiss was getting better and was expected to be back at work soon.

Today he had received the result of her last examination. She was fit for duty again and he had come to tell her the news. When he rang the bell he was reminded of his first and only visit some years ago. Back then he had successfully convinced her not to quit her job. This time Emily opened the door in sportswear. Obviously she had been at the rehab center to work out. She looked surprised but pleased and invited him in.

It was a completely innocuous situation. They hadn't seen each other for a while since she had been released from the hospital and he had looked forward to it. Yes, he still quarreled with the whole situation and the confusing feelings it has prompted in him. Then again he was Aaron Hotchner, unit chief. He had a plan and he would stick to it.

What he hadn't taken into account was the effect it had on him to see her again. When she opened the door he not only saw her – somehow he could feel her presence deep inside of him. He hadn't planned on that and was alarmed how difficult it was for him not to confront her immediately with the questions that took a heavy toll on him. _Why did you agree to go on that kind of undercover mission? Was it hard to fake being in love?_ But most of all one question bothered him. _Was there a point when you didn't have to fake it anymore because you felt it for real? _

Prentiss smile faded when she sensed his tension. Then she detected the file in his hand.

"So… Why are you here?" Restraint. Her eyes flickered involuntarily to the envelope.

Hotch pulled himself together. "I wanted to give you this one-on-one." He handed her the file or at least tried to, because she wouldn't take it. Her restraint turned into irritation.

"Are you going to fire me?" She blurted out the words and for a moment he was too stunned to speak. Then he realized that his strange mood must have given her the wrong impression.

Hotch cursed himself inwardly for the idea of playing lucky charm and delivering the good news. It had felt like a good idea when he had thought about it. _Because eventually you had an excuse to go and see her._ And it was supposed to be a completely legitimate visit without any ulterior motives. Except that he had almost screwed it up the moment he walked through her door. _And you know why. You can tell yourself that she's like any other member of your team again and again._ _Nevertheless just to hand her the envelope and tell her "welcome back" is not what you came here for._

But that was exactly what he did. It was the only plan that matched the rules. "Why would you think that I want to fire you?" He said. "I'm here to tell you that you passed the last test. You're fit for work again. Welcome back."

"Oh!" Embarrassment. "I just thought… because you've never showed up before that… you know…" Justification. She realized it and stopped, took a deep breath. "I'm glad!" Relief. "Of course I want to work as soon as possible."

Her smile was back and despite his inner turmoil he returned it. At this her smile became a toothy grin.

"Hotch! You're able to smile. Didn't think that I would live to see that."

His expression changed back to serious as the unintentional wordplay sunk in.

"No, I didn't think that either." He responded thoughtfully, thinking about the dark days after Doyle almost had killed her and her life had hung by a thread. He had to end this now. It had been a bad idea to come here. So far he had managed to act like the professional he was. No need to risk anything. _Say something nice and get out._

"The team will be glad that you're back." That was his usual Hotch modus. He felt safe again, in control of the situation. "We all miss you."

"Yeah, I knew that you couldn't live without me." Her voice was playful, but they both noticed the ambiguity. She could refer to the whole team as well as only to him. "Seems as if I only have to quit or almost get killed to get you here."

He couldn't tell whether this was just harmless flirting or a not so subtle hint to his reserved nature when it came to socializing with others, especially with her. Maybe both. The reminder that she almost had been killed still was painful though and he didn't make any effort to hide his agony.

She didn't expect this reaction and immediately offered an apology. "Sorry! I didn't intend to offend you."

"Don't apologize for almost having been killed." Hotch stated in his habitual evenly voice, controlling his emotions.

Prentiss knew him good enough though to sense his anger underneath even so she couldn't tell the reason for it.

"No, of course not, but..." She started again, when he cut her off.

"Stop! Really! You don't have to say sorry... for anything." The last two words came out forced because they were a blatant lie. He was aware that he had come dangerously close to the truth. The dark and unfamiliar instincts that had been induced by the disclosures about her past wanted, no needed, her to apologize for not telling him the truth, for being with Doyle in the first place.

She didn't respond this time, unable to read him. Such an almost emotional outburst was a rarity. And his strange mood still made her nervous.

He was... intense. She had no other word to describe it. Sometimes she imagined his polished manners like a cage around him, controlling character attributes he wouldn't show in public. She liked to hang out with charming and funny guys like Morgan. It were the dark and introverted men who really caught her attention though. Men like him. And of course the fact that he was very handsome wasn't exactly an obstacle. But today he was different. Not the Hotch she knew and could handle. She had witnessed him being hard on her when she disobeyed the rules. This was something else though. A side of him she hadn't seen before.

Just now she realized that he still held the envelop in his hands. She took it from him and reprimanded herself that they still stood in the hallway, that she hadn't even offered him something to drink.

"Do you want to...?" She gestured towards her living room, offering him a seat, but he refused with a polite nod indicating that he would leave now. When he turned around he felt her hand on his arm.

"Hotch…" He faced her and it was one of the rare moments in which there was nothing but openness and trust in her expression. "Thank you that you came by personally to tell me this. That means a lot to me."

He looked at her and since there was no crime scene, no threatening situation no distraction whatsoever, he had time to really see her. Of course he knew she was good looking. He saw the glances and he heard the comments. But the truth was that normally it didn't matter. She was a team member, because she could profile a serial killer. The beauty was an additional luxury. He was aware of it though. Sometimes it stroke him like a sudden lightning when they were discussing a case and she would look at him and smile or lean over to grab a file so that he could smell her perfume. It still made him sick how he had forced her to flirt with the Fox to gather information. He always had wanted to tell her he was sorry, but somehow there never had been a proper situation and then life just moved on and she almost had been gone for good.

She stood so close now that he could smell her fragrance and a light whiff of sweat from the workout. It turned him on – he was just a man after all – and his instincts were fighting to take over. Anger. Pain. Want. She could have died and he would never even have touched her once, never would have felt what Doyle had every night. It made him sick. And it made him unable to leave or to stop staring at her.

In retrospect there was something missing. He could recall her words, how they had stood in her hallway - then a blackout and the next thing he remembers is the kiss. Not a soft and friendly one, no, pure passion. Even under torture he wouldn't be able to say who started it - him or her. The outcome was the same anyway. Of course he knew exactly what he was doing, you can only lie to yourself so far. His inner profiler told him rationally and with a cool detached voice that he always had been drawn to her, at first only physically, later on also emotionally. Doyle only had been the last straw to break the camel's back. When he pushed her against the wall - and when he thinks about it he really hopes that he didn't push her as hard as he remembers - there was no doubt where this would lead to if she didn't stop him.

She didn't stop him. There was no undressing, no foreplay, no tenderness at all. Clothes were pushed aside where required. As a sideline he noticed that she's a moaner, but she tried to suppress it - whether for the sake of the neighbors or because all of this was new and exceedingly surreal he couldn't say. Yet her out of breath hisses next to his ear turned him on even more and it was over soon. At some point in between he felt her knees almost give way and realized that it was only the pressure of his body that kept her on her feet.

Afterwards there was nothing but silence. His hands were still on her hips, his nose buried in her neck. He felt her heart racing through her shirt and wondered whether his had stopped beating, because he felt nothing. No happiness, no shame, not even relief. It was too unreal. Something like this had never happened to him before. His instincts had taken over. The problem with instincts being that they have no plan for afterwards.

Experiences are filed away in categories we establish. When there is no category to file away a new experience, we struggle and have to choose whether we want to add a new category or suppress the experience. He was struggling and carefully the profiler in him took over again, knowing exactly what he had done. He had marked her as his territory. Extinguished Doyle.

He felt her heart beat slow down to normal. There wasn't much time left. He couldn't poise like this forever. But he also couldn't bring himself to look at her. Looking into her eyes would make it real and he wasn't sure that he would be able to deal with whatever he might see in them. He could feel her watching him askance.

"I'm..." He started to say, but he had no words. What could he possibly say that would ease this strange situation for both of them? He couldn't think of anything even approximately appropriate.

The effort to speak allowed him eventually to move though.

From the point of a detached observer it must have looked strange, if not ridiculous, when he left in silence. For him there was no other choice left. He had run out of plans.

The envelope with her permission to get back to work lay unnoticed and crinkled on the floor.

So much for saying something nice and getting out.

############

**To be continued**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Originally I thought the story would contain five chapters. Now the fifth chapter is up and still no end in sight. But I hope you don't mind! ;-) Have fun reading and let me know what you think.**

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing. Criminal Minds belongs to CBS.**

Presence

Hotch was tired of walking. The faster he walked the slower the pictures swirled through his mind. Flashbacks of his encounter with Emily; the same images with Doyle's face instead of his.

They never talked about what had happened between them. She could have easily filed a complaint against him. Technically it had been molestation, because he was her direct supervisor. Of course she did no such thing. When she had come back to work a few days later he had expected it to be uncomfortable at least, but somehow the familiar surroundings had persuaded them to slip into their old roles. And after a while he had almost convinced himself that nothing had happened at all, that it only had been a dream. Until now.

He was staggered by his strong emotional reaction. It was such a cliché. As long as there had been no other male threat everything had been fine. He saw her every day; suppression worked. The case and her words had stirred him up though. Denial was no longer an option, but he couldn't allow himself to get sidetracked, not now. He was the leader and had to stay on top of things.

So he walked back to the police station where he saw Emily lingering outside. She stood next to his black SUV. There was no sign anymore of the fear and desperation she had revealed a short time ago.

"Get in." She gestured towards the car. "I want to show you something."

His eyes wandered to the building and certainly she knew what he was thinking.

"The others are still here." She said. "They are working on the case. We will be back in half an hour. It won't take long."

He climbed into the car and kept his eyes straight ahead. She drove. It was surprisingly easy to be silent. He had expected a discussion to come up since it was their first time alone after the "hallway incident" as he called it furtively. So far he successfully had avoided such a situation. It was ridiculous - or proof that suppression worked. At least for a limited period.

All the more Hotch was taken aback when they arrived at their hotel; however he followed Prentiss up to her room. As soon as they were inside she turned around.

"I'm not quite sure how to phrase this." She started. Her self-assurance was still there, but he could sense the underlying tension. "I'm uncertain how the latest disclosures about my undercover assignment and my kidnapping influence our collaboration and interaction…" She paused and added hastily. "… as part of the team."

So now the discussion had come up anyway. He wasn't good at talking about his feelings. Never had been. And it was worse when it came to her because he didn't know what he felt. Even in a situation like this her sheer presence was enough to bewilder him. He couldn't imagine a life without her, but when it came to a life with her he couldn't say what he expected, what he wanted. At first he had thought that it was only about need, only physical. But then he wouldn't have reacted the way he did when he had heard her talking about Doyle. And that left him still more helpless – and he used the word "helpless" when he thought about it so that he didn't have to admit that it scared the hell out of him. After Haley he had been convinced that he wouldn't be able to develop a strong affection for another woman ever again. That it had happened slowly but steadily and almost without his awareness or assistance was one of the many tricks life had up its sleeve.

"I hope you don't feel uncomfortable working with me now." Her voice pulled him back to the present day. "What happened should not affect the team and us."

What happened? So much had happened and he couldn't be sure about which one of the occurrences she was talking. Doyle? Her almost death? The kidnapping? The two of them?

Obviously she didn't know exactly herself because she tried to be more specific, stumbling about her own words, and he realized how nervous and insecure she really was, but tried hard not to show it.

"I mean… You left the room when you heard me talk about Doyle and I wondered whether you judge me or understand. With you I never can tell. I know that I have done some terrible things. All the same being redlined by you or anyone from the team would be awful." She took a deep breath. "Yet even more so after what happened between us."

There - she had said it and the earth still was moving. Of course it was impossible to separate being judged by the team from being rejected by him. He was part of the team. She was. Remove one element and the puzzle falls apart.

"Don't think I expect anything from you. It doesn't have to mean anything." With this she seemed to have come to an end.

It hurt. Hotch hadn't expected her to say this, should have anticipated it though. He had given her no reason to believe that it had meant something to him. In fact his behavior had signaled that the opposite was true. Feeling close to someone didn't come naturally to her either so her words were the logical consequence and suddenly a thought struck him – what if it didn't matter whether it meant something to him or not? What if it hadn't meant something to her? He felt his body convulse. All the time he had been so caught up in his struggle to deal with the situation that he had taken it for granted that she felt something for him.

"Emily…" He started, but she raised a hand and stopped him. She still wasn't finished yet.

"Hotch… I don't know why you… what you're motives were. But don't feel guilty, because you used me." So - no question whether he had used her or not. She just stated it as the harsh fact it was. As if she was talking about the weather. He always had known that Emily Prentiss was a tough cookie. However this was a new level. Before he could say a word though she added something that made him wince.

"I used you too."

Just as he was busy figuring out what he could answer she started to unbutton her blouse. It didn't fit her words or demeanor at all and for a moment he assumed she wanted revenge. Then she turned around and let her blouse down. He gasped. When they had… well, in her hallway, it had all gone so fast that she had kept her shirt on. There were scars all over her back. Burns, streaks from heavy beating and knife cuts. It looked as if she had been to hell and back. What she had been in fact as he knew now. Some scars were more faded than others and in some years they hopefully would have faded still more and wouldn't leap to the eye instantly as they did now. He was reminded of the stitches in his chest thanks to Foyet. They still hurt from time to time when the weather was changing.

"Oh, my God, Emily…" With a few short steps he closed the distance between them and stretched out his hand to touch her. She let her blouse drop to the ground and turned around so that she faced him. Her chest looked slightly better, but there were also scars as a document of her suffering. He should have been prepared. After all he had read Rossi's notes. Reading about it and seeing it was something entirely different though. It was a visual overkill. The man in him registered the lacy bra despite the odd situation. The agent saw the case and a victim who would have to deal with emotional and physical consequences for the rest of her life.

"I'm so sorry." He knew that she for sure didn't want pity. Anyway that was all he could come up with.

"Don't be." When he looked into her face and through her self-confident behavior he sensed the amount of restrain it took her to get through this.

"I wanted to show you this…" She swallowed hard. "…because of what I said. I used you too, Hotch. After my undercover assignment, the kidnapping and the torture being with men was a disaster." He realized where this was heading and he didn't want to hear it. She continued either way.

"They look at my face and see beauty, but when I undress they see my real life and all the pain and darkness that surrounds me every day. No need to say that most of the time it's a one time only encounter. And when they're still interested I chicken out, wondering why they are able to deal with it, whether I am dating a freak who gets off on tortured women." She was breathing heavily now. This required more energy than she had expected.

It was a normal reaction. He had witnessed it several times, too many for his taste. Victims who were left scarred tended to develop a grossly distorted perception of themselves. Some for a limited time, some for their whole life. They saw only the scars when they looked into the mirror. Emily's injuries were severe, but they wouldn't scar her for life – at least not physically.

"Being with you felt so good, Hotch." She whispered. "It was so easy. I didn't think a second about my scars and what might happen if you saw them. You live in the darkness yourself." The last words came out almost inaudible.

He kept watching her, carefully put his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. She put up no resistance. He felt the warmth of her skin and how she slightly relaxed, eventually closing her arms around him too. She didn't cling to him, didn't cry, just let him touch and hold her. The intimacy of the situation was overwhelming. Hotch remembered the emptiness after he had left her apartment, when he had felt nothing. He knew that it had been his guilt kicking in, pushing him back into the shell he had created to avoid nearness. It had been easy back then - to welcome the inner cold like an old acquaintance you didn't like but knew good enough to appreciate his presence. Now it was different. His shell had a crack.

And suddenly he felt everything.

############

**To be continued**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks again so much for the reviews – especially to those of you who reviewed several chapters - and favoring my story. After the H/P interaction in the last chapters I thought I had to keep the plot moving now. But don't worry, there still will be H/P references in between since this is the main focus of the story. As always have fun reading and let me know what you think.**

Hotch and Prentiss were on their way to the police station. Morgan had called and informed them that they had a name and address. Joe Cumber, 47, Irish emigrant and petty crook. Apparently his evil deeds hadn't made it into the records so far. A blue pickup had been seen near the places where the three women had disappeared and the wonders of Garcia's research talents had led them to him. Hotch and Prentiss wouldn't make it on site in time so they had decided to meet directly at the station with the others.

"Are you ok?" Hotch asked Prentiss and darted a glance at her. She was picking at her fingernails - a bad habit when under stress she wasn't able to get rid of.

"We will need you to identify him. Other than that I don't want you near that case or him, because you're a witness and might have to testify in court." His voice was steady. He was giving her instructions as her unit chief, well aware that he couldn't risk to let the emotional part of the case get to him anymore than it already had.

She nodded. "Yes." Tense but calm. Then. "What if I can't identify him? What if I don't know whether it's him or not?"

"You will know." He responded quietly. "Most likely it's your subconsciousness that won't let you see his face in your memories to protect you. When you see him you will know." His hands grabbed the wheel firmly. "And I will."

She touched lightly his hand - a gesture as soft and intimate as natural that wouldn't have been possible an hour ago. Her head was spinning. To say that she had been confused after what had happened between them in her apartment was an understatement. She always had felt attracted to him, but frankly had never given it a second thought. There had been a time – after he had almost been killed by Foyet – when she had realized that her feelings for him deepened and she had briefly considered telling him. The consequences would have been too far-reaching though. So she had locked her feelings away. Working together, seeing each other every day, being part of a wonderful team wasn't that bad – even if it wasn't actually enough. Then he had come to her apartment and... A memory that was incredibly sexy and completely humiliating at the same time, because he had left without a word and she had been absolutely convinced that he regretted what had happened between them. There had been no indication afterwards that he saw anything in her but a member of his team or perhaps even worse - the mistake he committed once and nevermore. Then just when her purpose had been to tell him there was an easy way out, he had shown this sensitive and affectionate reaction and had held her as if she... meant something to him. She could still feel his touch on her bare skin and the recollection was accompanied by a sharp pain inside of her. Hope. All the time she had told herself that there could be no common future that they were both too broken to be happy. But now...

They arrived at the police station shortly before the rest of the team brought the unsub in. Rossi and Reid took him to the interrogation room and Morgan came up to Hotch and Prentiss. He looked gravely.

"What is it?" Hotch asked.

Morgan's look jumped to Emily who stood behind Hotch and then back to the unit chief.

"The unsub wants to talk, but he only wants to talk to her." He pointed his head into Emily's direction.

"This isn't possible." Hotch answered before Prentiss could say anything.

"I know this will be difficult…." Morgan was talking to Hotch; however his words were directed at Emily. "…for all of us. But you know how these psychos are. He probably will be so turned on by the opportunity to show off in front of one of his victims - sorry Emily - that he will confess everything."

"He's right." Prentiss voice was cold as ice. "I'll do it."

Hotch wasn't convinced. He knew though that he couldn't let this chance pass by just because of his emotional involvement. He had to treat her like any other member of the team. As if that was possible.

"Okay." His voice was even more monotone than usual. "But you, Morgan, will read him his rights and will be present all the time as the special agent in charge. Prentiss is just a civil consultant in this case. I don't want this monster back on the street because of a conflict of interest."

The interrogation room was a tiny space with only one table, stale air and a see-through-mirror so that the questioning could be watched from the outside.

Through the small glass window in the door Emily looked inside. She had expected to freeze in shock and recognition. Nothing happened though. She saw a bulky and disheveled man in his late forties. He could have walked past her on the street and she wouldn't have noticed. Hotch was staring at her with barely suppressed intensity.

"Do you recognize him?" He asked carefully with only a hint of his real emotions shining through.

"No." She answered clearly irritated about the turn this had taken. Then she looked at Hotch and Morgan. "What if it isn't him? And what if it is and I will never be able to identify him?"

Morgan put a hand on her shoulder. "We have to try. If it's him maybe you will remember when he starts talking. It's the best shot we have right now."

He opened the door and they went in. Hotch and the rest of the team went into the adjoining room to watch through the mirror.

############

The moment Emily went through the door everything changed. Still she didn't recognize the unsub, or rather Joe Cumber, but somehow she could feel that it was him. For a moment she was dizzy and concentrated on sitting down next to Morgan without facing the suspect. When she looked up his eyes were focused on her.

Morgan started the interrogation. All the time Joe never looked once at Morgan but only at Prentiss. It was a staring contest she had no plan to lose. Suddenly he leaned back, smiled and turned his attention to Morgan.

"So… you wanna hear all about the fun I had with your… friend?" His accent was a mixture of Irish and American underclass. Some of his teeth were so crooked that they appeared to fall out any moment. Even from across the table they could smell the foul odor coming out of his mouth.

"No." Emily intervened. "Don't tell him. Tell me." She was all business. There was no sign that any of this affected her at all. Even Hotch wasn't able to tell whether she was putting up an act or not.

The suspect grinned and leaned forward. Morgan tensed up to be ready to hold him back any time. Joe was chained to the floor, but with the old equipment you never knew. And then he started to tell his fairy tale. Except that instead of a prince and a castle there was a dungeon and a serial killer. His confession was detailed and gruesome. However Prentiss was almost relaxed, playing her role perfectly. Then all of a sudden he stopped.

"This is no fun!" Joe exclaimed. "You don't remember me."

"No, I don't." Emily answered honestly.

"But you do remember what happened to you, don't you?" The voice of the suspect was soft now, almost like talking to a child.

"Yes, I do." She was careful, knowing that he would sense when she lied to him, offering him as little information as possible.

"How do you know what happened to her?" Morgan asked.

The confession had been about the other victims so far. Morgan had cross checked in between. Most likely they had enough material to charge Joe with murder and even get a conviction - for the previous crimes as well as for the current ones. He wasn't sure in this respect how far they should go. If it was possible to lock this guy up for good and keep Prentiss out of it he would prefer this option. He didn't need to hear more gross torture details; all the more when his colleague and friend was involved.

Then Joe whispered something so quietly that only Prentiss could hear it. The words were familiar and gave her the creeps. She froze. Morgan observed the change but remained silent. He trusted Emily to decide how far she was willing to go. The decision whether she would be personally involved in this or not had just been taken out of his hands.

"She identified him." Hotch stated behind the glass. He had observed the change in Emily's body language. The knot in his stomach got even tighter.

"Yes." Joe hissed. "Now you remember." He relaxed visibly and bobbed his head. "What was your favorite treatment?"

It was disgusting how this monster was dead keen on talking about his torture methods with one of his victims face to face. For Hotch it became increasingly difficult to watch this and not intervene. He could deal with it as long as the suspect had spoken about the other victims. It wasn't new to him or the other team members to look into the abyss. This was completely different though. The creature sat right across from the woman he had held in his arms about an hour ago. He still could feel the scars on her skin, scars caused by him.

To Prentiss' credit she played further along even if she had to be balled up inside. "I don't know. You tell me. What was the most fun for you?"

"Oh, let's think about it… I guess burning you was wonderful. I loved your screams. Sometimes you lost conscience, you know, and I had a little fun with your body."

Hotch saw that Morgan was short of jumping over the table and bashing Joe up.

"You were the most precious one to me." The suspect's voice started to tremble. He had leaned forward again and suddenly they all realized what he was doing under the table. He was aroused and touching himself.

Morgan jumped to his feet and pushed him back so that he had to stop.

"Stop this you creepy bastard!"

Emily still was composed and relaxed on the surface. Only when she spoke her uproar showed. Her voice was trembling with cold fury.

"Wouldn't it be nice to fulfill your needs? Just that you can't. You can't pull it off like a man! Isn't that a pity?"

It all went so fast that even Morgan was slow off the mark.

The suspect somehow had managed to loosen his chains from the floor. He was still shackled but able to move. Quick as a flash he jumped over the table, grabbed Emily and pushed her against the wall. It only took a few seconds until Morgan collared him. Even so Joe had enough time to lick Emily across her face.

Hotch, Reid and Rossi rushed into the room. Rossi and Reid helped Morgan to re-chain the suspect to the floor. It took all three of them to subdue him. Hotch took Emily's arm and pulled her out of the room. For a brief moment they were alone. JJ had went to tell the other police officers in the building that the situation was under control and that they shouldn't worry about the noise and screaming.

After a few steps Hotch released Emily's arm. She frantically tried to wipe off the saliva with her sleeve and was breathing heavily.

"It's okay." He helped her with his sleeve.

"Don't touch me!" She flinched. "I don't want his spit on you too. This bastard…" She turned around, took a few steps towards the door, then turned around again. Like a tiger in a cage.

"Damned!" She kicked against the wall.

Hotch was relieved that she showed anger instead of fear. Nonetheless she had to…

"Calm down!" He said and touched her arm lightly. She took a deep breath and stopped pacing back and forth.

"I'm okay." She confirmed.

"No, you're not!" He disagreed. "How could you be?"

She gave him an agonized smile. Of course she wasn't okay. How could she be?

"You're not going back in!" Hotch said. "That's an order."

He could see it in her eyes that she wanted this way out. Needed it. She would never have asked for it, but a direct order from him was her chance to end all this right now.

In the interrogation room the struggle between the agents and the suspect was finished.

"Emily…" Joe yelled. "Come back to me! Emily…"

"She won't come back, you son of a bitch!" Morgan tried to shut him up. "We have your confession. She doesn't have to talk to you anymore."

"Oh… so you don't want to know where the woman is? The one I took last. She's still alive." With this Joe had their undivided attention.

Hotch's face froze. He knew that under these new circumstances he had to call off his decision, that he had to send her back in.

Emily suddenly was very interested in the concrete floor. Her hair almost covered her face so that Hotch couldn't read her expression. When she looked up he could see the pain in her eyes and he did something completely unprofessional.

"It doesn't matter. You're not going back in anyway. Morgan and Rossi can take over." He wouldn't be responsible for damaging her still more.

"Hotch…" She seemed to have trouble even getting his name out. "I don't want to go back in there. But I have to. You know that."

He didn't react, didn't know what to do or say. She was right. He couldn't imagine sending her back in though. It would be pure torment not only for her but also for him.

"What did he say to you?" Hotch asked, his voice strained and rough. "The words he whispered?"

Prentiss stared at him hard as if weighing whether he could take this or not. Then she answered. "You were his maximum loss. He always said that back then - only in present tense. You ARE his maximum loss." She paused. "Referring to Doyle of course. But you already figured that out I guess." Now she sounded almost provocative, dared him to pass judgement on her because she had crossed the line with this dangerous man.

Hotch was far from condemning her though. At least not now. He was too worried, too angry that he had to make decisions as a unit chief that contradicted the ones he would have made as a man. And he couldn't even compensate by touching her as this was not the adequate place or moment for the intimacy he longed for. Instead he reached out and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. A simple gesture within the blurred boundaries. Of course even this was way out of line considering his position, but he didn't know how else to show her that he cared without doing what every fiber of his body wanted to – taking her in his arms. He was the unit chief after all and she one of his agents.

Emily closed her eyes when his hand softly brushed her jaw, well aware that this was inappropriate, but also well aware that she needed his touch desperately to erase the memory of Joe Cumber licking her face. She clutched his hand and huddled her cheek against it. Right in this moment Rossi came out of the interrogation room and saw them.

Hotch slowly pulled back his hand. He noticed the glance Emily and Rossi exchanged. Somehow he knew that he could trust Rossi to keep a secret.

"I want you to go in with her." He addressed Rossi. "Stand directly behind the suspect so that he can try no more stunts."

"Understood." Rossi nodded and turned around to follow Emily into the interrogation room just when Reid came out.

"Oh, and Rossi…" Hotch added even if he wasn't sure how to approach him about the sensible subject, all the more because Reid had joined them.

"Don't worry." Rossi answered before Hotch had to say or explain anything. "That's none of my business."

With that he and Emily disappeared from Hotch's view and the door closed behind them.

"What is it you shouldn't worry about?" Reid asked. For a genius he was surprisingly curious sometimes.

"Nothing of relevance." Hotch muttered and Reid accepted that without any further questions - his attention already drawn to the see-through-mirror.

The second round was about to start. Joe's words had hit home. Except that Emily now wasn't Doyle's maximum loss anymore. She was Hotch's.

############

**To be continued**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: The plot thickens! But... not everything is as it seems. That's the only hint I will give you. You'll know what I mean if you read the next chapter(s). ;-) And here we go... Thank you so much for your reviews and the story alerts. They keep me writing. So R&R please, please, please!**

**Disclaimer: This is just for fun! Criminal Minds belongs to CBS.**

"Welcome back, Emily." Joe greeted her effusively, obviously satisfied with himself. He pronounced every syllable of her name in a yukky sing-song.

They were about to start the second round of the interrogation. This time Rossi was with Morgan and Prentiss in the room, standing right behind the suspect as Hotch had told him so that Joe Cumber would stand no chance to get near Emily again.

"Where is the woman?" Prentiss wasted no time although she knew that it wouldn't be that easy. And it wasn't.

"What's your stake?" The suspect asked. Suddenly the impression of the petty crook was gone and made room for a highly intelligent albeit sadistic character. The change was as sudden as frightening. "And please call me Joe."

"Where is the woman, _Joe_?" Prentiss gave it a second try, on the surface unimpressed by his daunting mutation. Inside though she asked herself the worrying question who they were actually dealing with. Unexpected surprises were the worst when interrogating a suspect. Nevertheless she had no time to speculate so she asked the unavoidable. "And what is it that you want in return for this information?"

Joe Cumber's smile started to jar on Morgan's nerves. The guy was much too confident, much too pleased for a man just having been arrested.

"I'm going to tell you where the woman is." His underdog accent suddenly was gone. Instead he had the pronunciation of a man who had enjoyed a good education. "But first you..." He nodded to Emily. "...have to answer three questions. Honestly, of course."

Hotch was on the phone with Garcia. So far there had been five women reported missing lately in Chicago. Two didn't match Joe Cumber's type and one had found her way back home in the meantime. This left two potential victims. The suspect could tell the truth. There could be a woman out there somewhere hoping for them to find and save her. He had no other option than to let the interrogation continue. His team knew that if he didn't interrupt they had to go on.

"This is pure bullshit." Morgan said. "You want to play your little mind games and will give us nothing in return."

"Maybe." Joe grinned venomously. He knew he had them. They had no choice. Even on the slightest off chance they had to play along. "But _if _I'm telling the truth then all you have to do to save the life of a young woman is answer some questions. Ah, sorry..." He changed his attention to Emily. "Of course it's _you_ who has to do the talking."

"Alright then." She was getting really pissed and tried to hold on to that feeling so that fear wouldn't take over. Prentiss would never admit such a thing, but this guy was giving her the creeps. "Let's start."

Hotch cringed at her cool composure. He knew she could play mind games, had done it before during interrogations and was good at it. This was different though. The suspect had access to information suitable for hurting or mortifying her. Obviously they had underestimated him. He was much more intelligent than they had thought and knew that he would get no second chance of a physical contact with Emily. Hence he was looking for a way into her head.

"The first question is easy." The suspect spoke in a soft tone as if to inspire confidence. "Did you have other missions similar to the special assignment to... _get in touch_ with Ian Doyle?" The way he pronounced it brought home the message what he meant. "Just a yes or no please." No smile this time. His expression was serious.

The question - or rather the answer - really was easy. There hadn't been any other missions like Doyle. "No." Prentiss said and hoped that Hotch believed it.

"See that was easy." Joe said. "And perhaps a lie, but I will let that one pass."

Right in that moment Emily realized that it wasn't about the questions or answers. It was about her relationship with her colleagues and friends. A relationship that was already damaged by the latest occurrences so there thoroughly was the risk that Joe Cumber could plant a seed of suspicion where mutual trust hadn't completely returned yet.

It didn't matter whether her answers were true or not. His aim was to humiliate her, to make her colleagues believe that she had been on such kind of "missions" on a regular basis, perhaps even liked it, and Prentiss couldn't help but think about whether his words would be able to cast doubt. She wasn't allowed to take a break though. Joe posed the second question. And as expected it was more unpleasant.

"Tell me what you felt when Doyle touched you?"

The urge to look at Hotch through the mirror – even if she couldn't see him – was almost impossible to resist. They still hadn't talked about what they felt for each other – provided that she hadn't read him wrong - and she knew that Doyle would be an issue. Who could blame Hotch if it was? Doyle wasn't off the cards for her to this day.

She had to answer, the truth being so complex and confusing that it hopefully couldn't be separated from a lie. Joe was waiting, Rossi straight behind him, his eyes on her. She didn't raise her sight to meet his knowing she would find understanding. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Morgan clench his fingers. Not so much understanding on his part.

"It was... tricky." She said, well aware this wouldn't satisfy Joe.

He nodded as if he had seen this coming. "Of course it was tricky." He spoke after briefly contemplating her answer. "You didn't intend to feel something for him. And when you realized that you did it was too late."

Against better knowledge Prentiss felt anger flare. She knew she couldn't risk letting him provoke her, but the events of the last few days had thinned out her protective shield. She was fading away and she knew it. Most likely he knew it too.

Hotch had expected humiliating questions like these. Right with the first question it was clear which path Joe Cumber was taking. He was surprised by Emily's composure and the short and crisp answers she managed to give the suspect. It was easy to see through his attempt to breed discord. Hotch was almost certain that it wouldn't work; Prentiss' new bond with the team was still fresh and vulnerable though. At least the suspect could make it more difficult for her to rebuild mutual trust.

_So what do you think?_ All of a sudden the thought was in his head. Loud and clear as if someone had spoken to him. Impossible to ignore. Until now Hotch had himself pretty much convinced that Joe Cumber's questions or Emily's answers weren't relevant to him, that it was the usual mind game of a psychopath. He had been there, done that many times before. His inner voice wouldn't keep quiet though. _What if there have been other undercover assignments? What if she did this not only once? What if she really felt something when Doyle touched her or some nameless faceless other man she met during an operation? _Hotch had no answers and he wasn't prepared for the deep hurt this caused. The mind game was on and he had just joined in.

In the interrogation room Joe had apparently decided to accept Prentiss' second answer despite the curtness. Right now he was thinking about the last question or pretended to. No-one believed him. He had figured it all out and knew exactly what he wanted to ask her, enjoyed the attention.

Hotch was completely uptight by now. He dreaded the direction Joe's questions were taking although it was no surprise. When he had received the order to kidnap Prentiss, or Lauren as she had been called back then, he must have gotten some information about her relationship with Doyle. But why did he know that it had been an undercover assignment? How did he find out her real name? Her whereabouts? They knew what made it personal for him, but Lauren Reynolds was dead. How did he know that she wasn't?

Joe's voice interrupted his considerations, contorted by the microphone in the interrogation room. "How is it, Emily, sleeping with other men after you were mine, when they see your scars?"

The use of her first name in that question was no coincidence and even if Hotch could only see her from behind he registered her shoulders tense visibly. Perhaps she had – like him – expected another question about Doyle. Uncomfortable and humiliating, yes, but hey, the whole team knew about it, so it couldn't get much worse. With this question it just did.

Prentiss felt as if Joe had kneed her in the guts. In fact she would have preferred it. His words left her named and shamed. She had talked to Hotch about this special subject and the others could put two and two together, knowing her statement. Yet to hear it spoken out loud in front of the people she was closest to was the worst thing he could do to her. Joe Cumber had been looking for her sore spot and he had found it. She could feel the scars under her blouse burning as if she was on fire. Without realizing it she moved one hand to her chest as if protecting herself, covering her scars. This time she couldn't keep things firmly under control, turned her face towards the see-through-mirror and stared right through it in what she hoped to be Hotch's eyes. _Help me._ It was a silent scream that went right through Hotch. But it took her only a few seconds to regain composure and focus again. Hotch saw the change in her expression.

_Damn! _Emily scolded herself. She had to concentrate! Joe had already registered that his question had caught her off guard and of course he enjoyed it. She glanced at Rossi who imperceptibly shook his head, no, don't let the suspect see your agony. So she pushed back her feelings of hurt and humiliation deep inside of her and calmed herself, felt Morgan's presence beside her, blocked out Hotch's presence behind the mirror and all the unanswered questions that might cross his mind.

"It's different, you changed me." It wasn't the whole truth and it wasn't a complete lie. Prentiss was astounded how easy the answer had come to her.

Joe stared at her intensely. Everybody assumed that he had expected and wanted her to break down - or perhaps not since he suddenly rewarded her with a bright smile as if she had passed the test.

"So where is the woman?" Morgan. Threateningly calm and tense. His don't-mess-with-me voice. The only sign that he also was stirred up by the inquiry-response game.

"Write this down." Joe's voice was back to the irritating sing-song as if nothing affected him at all while still staring at Prentiss. He dictated an address and never blinked even once. It gave her the creeps. Something had to be wrong. This couldn't be that easy. After he had told them the address Joe Cumber closed his eyes. The game was over.

############

There was no time to process what had just happened between Prentiss and the suspect. They already were on their way to the address he had given them. Emily had waited for Hotch instructing her to stay at the police station but he didn't. Maybe he considered it her reward to free the woman – in case they would find her alive.

They reached a building to be demolished and started ransacking it. Morgan and Rossi searched the upper stories; Reid and JJ combed downstairs. That left the basement for Hotch and Emily. She felt her pulse speed up when they sneaked down the stairs. The moldy smell made her swallow. Serial killers liked places like this. Dark and loathsome. She couldn't count how often they had been in cellars like this. It was different this time though. They were looking for a victim who had been kidnapped and tortured because of her. She had to find the woman, had to save her.

One small room was followed by another, like an endless labyrinth, until the cellar opened up into a hall almost like a cathedral. Hotch's flashlight found a switch and to their surprise power was still working. The room was illuminated by a diffuse faint light. Enough though to detect the body that lay on the ground right in the middle of the room. They both ran off at that sight. Hotch reached the body first, checking for a pulse while Emily waited for his confirmation that there still was one, that the woman was still alive. But even if the body was still warm, there was no pulse, nothing they could do anymore.

Hotch informed the others over the radio and saw Emily fall down on her knees beside the woman. It was heartbreaking and he felt grateful albeit ashamed that the woman on the ground was someone else and not her. The resemblance was striking. The body lay facedown, but hair and physique matched Emily's in an eerie way. There was no doubt that dark brown eyes in a beautiful face would stare at them if they turned her on her back. Joe Cumber had remained true to his principles up to his last victim. Hotch had trouble looking at the body and could not nearly imagine how hard it had to be for her.

Prentiss didn't move. She crouched next to the body and just stared at it. Hotch went over to her and put her hand on her shoulder. He needed to get her away from here. When she didn't react, he bend over and grabbed her around her waist to softly pull her up. "Come on. There's nothing we can do here anymore." His voice reverberated in the large room. He had expected her to put up resistance, but she let him pull her up.

When Emily was back on her feet she leaned into him for a brief moment. All energy had left her body. She was completely exhausted. Then she turned around to walk out of the room and froze instantly. Hotch faced her, with his back to the door. She looked over his shoulder at something next to the entrance that had been covered by the shadows and the dim light until now. Her face had an expression Hotch had never seen before. She looked as if she just had met the devil himself. And in a way it was true, because she stared right into the face of Ian Doyle.

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**To be continued**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N (1): First of all I want to say that I know some of you might be disappointed about the revelation concerning "Ian Doyle" in this chapter. But I warned you with the hint in my introduction to the last chapter that not everything is as it seems, remember? I can't say more right now, because I don't want to spoil anybody. So please read my A/N at the end of this chapter. **

**This is moreover the longest chapter so far. I rewrote it a gazillion times and really hope that you like the final version. Sometimes writing is a bitch! ;-) But your reviews and story alerts make me sooo happy! Thank you so much! So R&R please and let me know what you think.**

"Hotch!" Emily yelled and by the look on her face he could tell that she had seen something horrible right behind him. His back started to tingle, preparing for a knife cut or the impact of a bullet. Nothing like this happened though, because she lunged out and pushed him down, landing on top of him.

He tasted dust on his tongue. It was hard to breathe. The fall had pushed the air out of his lungs and her weight was still on top of him. As a flash of insight he noticed that one of his hands somehow had found its way under her jacket and blouse because he felt warm skin. Her hair covered his face and he could feel her breath on his cheek. The shock and leap had obviously pushed the air out of her lungs too, because she was short of breath, but wasted no time to jump up and... froze.

When Hotch carefully rolled over he could see feet next to his head. The feet of a man. Prentiss stood face to face to him. None of them moved and when Hotch looked up he saw the reason for it. The "man" in fact was a dummy with an enlarged picture of Ian Doyle as its face. In the obscure room the illusion was perfect at first sight; the shadows in the corners the perfect hideaway so that they hadn't seen it until now.

"What the..." Hotch got up and right at this moment the dummy slowly fell over.

It was eerie as if the dummy had suddenly come to life and Hotch instinctively jumped back. With a dull sound the dummy hit the ground. Emily stood straight in front of him. She hadn't moved, hadn't even flinched and Hotch cynically thought that without a doubt she was the one of them who had nerves of steel.

Just when he allowed himself to breathe again he heard the voice.

"Nice to meet you in person, Agent Hotchner! And nice to see you again, Emily!" Another pair of feet stepped into the light, but the voice had no face. It remained covered among the shades. "Hope you liked my picture. Sorry for the trick. I'm usually not known for such a dramatic performance." To underline his words the man stretched out his arm that held a gun pointed directly at them.

_My picture... _Ian Doyle was dead, shot by an interpol agent. Hotch had read the report, but hadn't seen the body. Could it have been a fake? Like Lauren Reynolds death? Could life really be so cruel to let them – especially her – go through all this once again and suffer even more?

Emily stood with his back to him. Hotch couldn't see her face, couldn't tell whether she recognized the voice or not. If it sounded like Doyle, if there was the slightest chance that the man might be telling the truth it had to be devastating for her.

Or not. Her sharp voice sliced through his thoughts like a knife. "If it's really you, then show me your face. Don't hide among the shades like a coward!" Hotch had expected her to be afraid or at least confused. He hadn't expected Prentiss to go for it without regard for her own life. When it came to Ian Doyle she apparently was beyond good and evil. The sound of her voice frightened him. He had heard it before. She was tired, angry and about to snap.

Hotch tried to estimate whether it would be possible for him to reach the exit without being shot, but cast away the idea immediately. It was futile. Emily stood right between him and the man and any attempts on his side would most likely lead to her being killed or at least severely wounded. He couldn't risk that. So their only chance was the rest of the team catching up with them soon. But the building was huge. They were still on their way. And Prentiss wouldn't let it go when the man didn't react.

"I'm done with this kind of crap!" She said and actually made a move as if she really considered attacking someone who pointed a gun at her.

"Emily..." Hotch exclaimed. He couldn't believe it. The situation threatened to get out of control. They were held hostage and it was standard procedure that he as the one with the highest ranking would take over and she as his subordinate would follow his track. So much for theory. He should have known that Ian Doyle would prompt her to ignore protocol.

The shadowy voice spoke again. "Please remove your weapons and lay them on the ground... slowly."

To lose or give up your weapon increased the chance of ending up dead exponentially. Reid would have been able to cite the exact percentage. Hotch's thoughts were racing. If they didn't obey it was likely that the man - whoever it was - shot one or both of them right now. If they did obey they would be unarmed and their lives were still in danger but they would live – at least for the time being.

"Okay, we'll do it." Hotch saw no other chance and silently prayed that Emily would calm down and play along. But her current mental state didn't allow her that. She already had moved a little into the direction of the voice and he saw her body tense when she prepared herself for... whatever she was about to do. She stood no chance though. Before she could do anything, the man smacked the gun into her face. With an ugly sound and a low moan she went down only to be yanked up by him again. At least she had achieved her aim. He had come out of the shadows and showed them his face. Hotch heard Emily gasp. The man looked almost exactly like Ian Doyle – except that there was something odd about him.

Hotch registered a sudden movement and felt the impact. The man had grabbed Emily, turned her around and pushed her into his direction so that she practically tumbled against him. There was blood on her face from the blow and he hoped that the injury wasn't as bad as it looked. She didn't seem to feel it at all though. As a matter of fact she was laughing nearly hysterically. "It's not him!" She burst out. "Ian is dead! Ian is dead!" As if the repetition made it more real. With these words the energy that had made her so reckless left her body and Hotch felt her lean wearily into him. Over her shoulder he had a clear look at the man's face and from what he could tell he was looking at a dead man, at Ian Doyle. The similarity was scary. But she was right. Even if Hotch only had seen pictures of Doyle it wasn't him, only a very well done replication.

The man didn't react to Prentiss' words and waited for them to follow his orders. When they had removed their weapons, kicked them far away so they weren't able to reach them anymore, willingly participated in reducing their chances of survival, he disappeared even deeper in the shadows and they heard a door slam shut. The sound let Hotch's heart sink. The door sounded massive and not easy to pry open.

"The door is reinforced with pure steel." The man informed them as if he had read his thoughts. "You cannot kick it in or destroy the lock by shooting at it. It takes a bazooka to come in here and I suppose none of your other team members carries something like this along by accident."

So it would take time for the rest of the team to get in. And they were locked up here and couldn't get out. Was there another hidden exit somewhere? Hotch really hoped so. Otherwise the man was on a suicide mission.

Hotch knew that he had to establish a relationship to the man to avert further damage from them. And he had to to it fast. Time was working against them. Without their weapons they were unprotected and didn't know what he had in mind. They had to act as long as they were able to move about freely – at least more or less. He hadn't tied them up yet. They still could fight. But Emily was frail in health and would sooner or later not be able to defend herself anymore. From what Hotch could tell so far the man's actions were rational and deliberate. His approach to establish a relationship depended on whether the man was delusional or not. _Not delusional, _he decided. _He doesn't really believe that he is Ian Doyle. He just wanted to frighten us for the sake of the effect._

"So how are we supposed to call you?" Hotch asked, anxious to keep his voice easygoing. Just a normal conversation between two people.

The man didn't answer. Instead he gestured with the gun at them. "Turn around and walk towards the other side of the hall. I want to show you something." His voice told Hotch it wouldn't be a good idea to argue. Emily walked right beside him, slightly staggering, and he wondered how bad her head wound really was. _Please, don't let her get a shock._

In the middle of the room they passed the corpse of the woman. It was a terrifying situation. The light was flickering, the shadows seemed to claw at them out of the corners, they were isolated and alone, locked-in together with a body and a peculiar, potentially dangerous man. But all this didn't bother Hotch much. The only thing that crept him out was the thought of not getting Emily out alive.

Just as he was pondering about alternatives to make the man talk he answered Hotch's question as if there had been no interruption. "I have many names, you know. When I used to work for Doyle I was..."

"...the man in the first car." Emily finished his sentence and initially Hotch assumed that she perhaps was fantasizing due to her lesion.

But she wasn't because he heard the man behind them laugh triumphantly. "So you recognized me after all! Yes, Ian never traveled with the first car, because that would be the car to be attacked primarily. All these years I was his stand-in in several situations, a distraction from his real whereabouts, a surrogate target."

"No, I didn't recognize you." Emily intervened and Hotch ascribed it to her head wound and slight dizziness, because you never, under no circumstances, interrupted an unsub when he eventually had started talking. "But although Ian never talked about it, not even with me, it was an open secret that he had a double and with your appearance it had to be you."

_Not even with me._ She probably wasn't aware of the wording she had chosen, stating that she had been as close to Ian Doyle as no-one else as a sideline, because it was nothing extraordinary. Hotch had no time to feel hurt though. He was busy processing the information he had just learned, thinking about whether he could use it for their benefit or not.

Meanwhile they had reached the other side of the hall. There was an entrance to another room, so small it looked like a cave. They had to stoop to get in. Emily slipped and would have fallen, hadn't Hotch caught her. His arms steadied her and he noticed that her body was warmer than usual. Perhaps she caught a fever, probably caused by the head wound and constant excessive demand of body and soul. The light only partially reached into the small room; enough though to reveal wall-mounted iron chains, a cot and a hole in the ground. The air had a metallic smell of blood, sweat and fear.

Despite the smell and the confined space Emily squatted down at one of the walls and leaned her head against it. Evidently she didn't apperceive her surroundings anymore and wasn't doing well. Most likely she had a concussion and needed medical treatment. She looked pale, in need of protection and that was a rarity. Once more Hotch was aware that time was running out.

"Welcome to Joe Cumber's refuge." The man, who still hadn't told them his name, announced.

Hotch stiffened when he saw the wall across from the cot. There were pictures pinned on it, all showing one person – Emily. He glanced over at her, but she hadn't moved, just sat there with her eyes closed, hopefully regaining her strength and not slipping even deeper into a state of presyncope. She hadn't noticed the wall with the pictures yet.

It was surreal – seeing her face over and over in this basement. Then again everything about the case was surreal. The suspect changing from petty crook into an intelligent sadistic killer, the victims looking like her, Ian Doyle's face on a dummy and on another man who was still alive. It was like a never ending nightmare.

Hotch realized that the pictures must have been taken over several years. They showed different situations, different haircuts, but they all indicated that the person who had taken them was obsessed. Faces of other people – especially of Prentiss' male colleagues – had been scraped off. Whoever had done this didn't intend to share his object of desire.

Some photos particularly caught Hotch's attention. They apparently had been taken during Emily's time with Doyle. She was smiling in all of them, looking happy and in no way as troubled as one would have expected her to be – at least mentally. On the other hand she had played a role and perhaps she was just a good actress.

Hotch felt the sharp pain again inwardly that had hit him the first time during Joe's little mind game. He couldn't afford to get sidetracked. But who was he trying to fool? In reality he already was beyond this point. Even now he _was_ sidetracked, constantly distracted by Emily's presence, always pondering on how he could get her out of here and at the same time asking himself what really had happened between her and Doyle, considering his options to get closer to her, questioning his ability to deal with the situation, let alone the consequences. He was a unit chief on the brink of losing control and this could cost both of their lives. He had to focus.

"Why do you show us this?" Hotch asked, hoping to divert the man enough to get a chance to attack him.

"You tell me." The man said. "You're the profiler. What happened in here?" So he wouldn't let himself be diverted. At least not now.

Hotch looked around, took in the austere equipment, the chains and the photo wall.

"This is a cell where someone has been held captive, sometimes in chains." Hotch analyzed and gestured towards the wall. "As to the photos, I'm not sure. They reflect obsessive behavior. I just don't know whether the one of the person being held here or the person who orchestrated all this."

The man stared at Hotch and nodded. "Oh, yes, predator or prey! Isn't that always the question? But perhaps in this case both are obsessed."

_Both? _The man answered Hotch's unspoken question. "Ian Doyle held Joe Cumber captive here. For all these years. Until he found out that she betrayed him. She destroyed not only Ian Doyle's life, but Joe Cumber's life too."

The pieces of the puzzle suddenly fit together – at least most of them. After Doyle had freed Emily, or rather Lauren, he had craved for revenge and realized that the worst thing he could do to Joe Cumber was letting him watch his object of desire every day without being able to actually get at her. Cumber had been in the cell for years, explaining his break in killing. Even when in prison Doyle would have had men who worked for him and followed his instructions. But then one day Ian Doyle had told Joe he was free to go, free to find Emily if he still wanted to. He had told him everything about her. Her real name, where she worked, where she lived, what she had done to him. After his escape from prison he obviously had decided that it was better to have her chased by two psychopaths instead of one. Doyle had collaborated with his worst enemy, because he had been full of bitterness and hate about Lauren's betrayal. And Joe Cumber had started to prepare for killing Emily Prentiss, had improved his skills by kidnapping and torturing lookalikes in the same basement that had been his jail for the last years. His refuge.

Hotch was concerned about the wording the man had chosen when talking about Emily. _She _betrayed him, _she_ destroyed lives, not _Emily_. That wasn't good. The man began to depersonalize Emily although he knew her name. Usually this was the preparation for something worse. He had to draw his attention elsewhere.

"And what's your role in all this..." Hotch paused long enough at the end of the sentence to remind the man that he still hadn't told them his name.

The man laughed quietly. "You are obtrusive, Agent Hotchner. I had to be Ian for all these years. I don't know how to be anyone else. I forgot my real name." He stepped closer and hadn't Emily been so physically weak it would have been her chance to overwhelm him. As it was she couldn't do anything though. His mood suddenly changed from noncommittal to aggressive. "If you absolutely want to call me by a name, Agent Hotchner, then call me Ian." So he was at least partly delusional after all; the lines of his presence blurring with his past in which he was the stand-in for one of the mightiest criminals and most likely felt as powerful as Doyle when he impersonated him. "And if you still haven't figured out why we're down here together." The man lowered his voice. This was his confession. "I intend to finish what Doyle couldn't. She has to be punished. It all ends here."

So that was what it was all about. Emily had brought Ian Doyle down and this man didn't know how to be anyone else. He couldn't go back to his old life, his real self. He had lost his identity and as a consequence wanted to... _die_. As Hotch realized this a cold hand of fear clenched his heart. It was a suicide mission indeed. And he wanted to take them with him.

How had he known that they would come here? The answer was obvious. Joe Cumber wanted to kill Emily and so wanted "Ian". They must have had an agreement to set up a trap in case one of them would be caught. It had been planned all along that Joe would give them the address. But still there had been one variable. "You were lucky it was the two of us who searched the basement." Hotch said wryly.

"Ts, ts." The man shook his head disapprovingly. "You're the profiler here. You should know better. Most victims are found in the basement and you as the unit chief wanted to give her the opportunity to find and save the victim. It was no accident that she searched the basement. And it also was no accident that you accompanied her."

Hotch's warning bells were ringing in his head. His instinct told him not to elaborate the last remark and he hoped the man would leave it alone. But luck was a rare guest down here. "I knew you would be with her, because you're the one who slept with her."

He should have known. The pictures showed that Emily had been surveilled for months, even years, and recently he had come out of her apartment at an inappropriate time – at least for the visit of a direct supervisor. The eyes behind the gun studied him and Hotch realized that the man had done nothing but guess and let Hotch's face confirm it. When it came to Emily Prentiss he couldn't always control his reactions completely. The profiler being profiled.

The man laughed out loud and Emily jerked. She had passed out and hadn't overheard their conversation.

"Bring her over here." The man ordered and gestured towards the wall with the iron chains.

Hotch felt sick. Bringing her over would inevitably lead to bounding her in those chains. He couldn't stand the thought. Hotch kneeled down in front of her. "Hey... Emily..." He softly touched her arm. "How are you?" She looked at him, still dazed, but slowly finding her way back to reality. Hotch took in every shape of her face, memorizing it. A private moment before their world would fall apart. And with her being helplessly chained up he was sure it would.

"Pull her up!" Hotch felt the gun at the back of his head and did as told. A gun always is a convincing argument to participate. He pulled Emily to her feet and after a brief moment she looked awake and not as dizzy as before, was steady on her legs. Hotch almost wished she would have stayed dazed and confused, not realizing what happened. It would have been a bliss for her, although he knew that the man wouldn't have allowed it either way. A punishment wasn't one without the one being punished suffering.

Emily was fully aware of the surroundings now, looking around and detecting the photo wall, the iron chains and coping with it astonishingly calmly. Her legendary skill to compartmentalize. Perhaps she didn't have a concussion after all and the blow had just temporarily put her out of action. Her eyes met Hotch's and he saw the fear and the strength underneath. She wouldn't go down without a fight; but how fight when you're tied up? The man increased the pressure of the gun at the back of his head and for a moment Hotch was absolutely sure that he would shoot him right now, had a vision of his blood all over her.

_Maybe you won't get another chance to be so close to her again. _Suddenly it dawned on Hotch that this could be _it_. Their last moment together. The last time she was so close to him that he could smell her, pull her into an embrace, even kiss her, if their kidnapper would let him. He was searching for the right words, when he saw the change in her eyes. She hadn't been certain how serious the situation was, but she had discovered the fear in his expression and his fear was the one and only thing that was able to frighten her.

And just like that the moment was gone. The man tore Hotch away from Emily and stepped carefully back at the same time to not risk being assaulted by one of them.

"One more thing." He said and his voice crept inside Hotch, filled every part of him with an agonized silent scream when he heard him say those words. "Tell me, Agent Hotchner, if you had to choose between watching her being slowly tortured to death by me or killing her yourself mercifully right now. What would your choice be?"

Hotch had never been so scared in his whole life.

############

**To be continued**

**A/N (2): Yes, I know, at the end of the last chapter it looked as if Ian Doyle was alive and he is not. A mean little twist! But this story always was meant to take place in a universe where Ian Doyle is dead (confer story description) and I don't like to contradict myself, not even for the sake of a good effect. So I hope you forgive me. **

**Plus... playing with the thought that Doyle**_** is**_** still alive gave me the idea to another story. And I promise to post this one sometime in the near future as compensation for those of you who are really disappointed that there is no interaction between the three of them in this story (at least not with the **_**real**_** Ian Doyle). See? I'm not so bad after all! ;-) **


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hotch and Emily are down in the basement with a lunatic who faced Hotch with an impossible decision. So this is angst-ridden and emotional and I hope you like it. ;-) Thanks to everybody who's reading and reviewing. As always I'm curious to know what you think. So R&R please.**

"Door's closed!" JJ stated and rattled at the knob. The rest of the team had met on their way downstairs and now they were all stopped by the locked door.

"Strange..." Reid murmured and put his hand against the door. "The door seems to be new and extremely sturdy. Is that reinforced steel?"

"Probably is." Rossi joined in. "This door doesn't fit in here."

"But this is the way Hotch described." Morgan said and made a futile attempt to kick in the door.

"Hotch's not answering!" JJ had tried to reach their team leader over the radio; her answer causing Morgan to kick and thrum against the door even more. "Hotch!" He yelled. "Emily!" But there was only silence in return.

"Something's wrong." Rossi summed up what they all were thinking.

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For once in his life Hotch didn't know what to do or say.

The absurd question reverberated in his head. As if he could kill Emily! He would never do that! _Not even to spare her the agony of torture?_ His inner voice. _Could you really stand idly by and watch her suffer? _He was aware that the demand to choose rather was an ultimatum.

"I understand that you have to think about it, Agent Hotchner." The man's voice was calm, steady. He already had made his choice. Emily Prentiss had to be punished, had to die. The execution was just a question of semantics.

Hotch hated him with a fierce intensity he hadn't known he was capable of. He wanted to yell at him, spit into his face, crush his body and feel every single bone break. He was seething with rage. At the same time Hotch was royally pissed at himself. He was an experienced profiler who should be able to find a solution even in a seemingly forlorn situation like this. _Breathe! Concentrate! What to you know about this man who has absorbed Ian Doyle's life to the extend that he rather wants to die than to be himself again?_

"May I remind you that you please take her over here?" The man who wanted to be called Ian gestured at the iron chains; his words incongruously polite.

_He doesn't want to kill me, _Hotch realized. There was no anger or resentment in the man's voice when he talked to him. At least for now. His destructive streak was solely directed against Emily. And himself. The man without an own name or an own life, without a future. _It all ends here, _he had said and meant it.

Perhaps if he played along there would be a chance to talk him into releasing them. _Yeah, for sure!_ Hotch was clutching at every straw and he knew it.

Beside him Emily started to walk over to the other wall with the iron chains. She hadn't looked at him once since the man had posed his question. _And you haven't looked at her,_ Hotch scolded himself, well aware that he had avoided the eye contact on purpose. How look at her when he had to choose between the devil and the deep blue sea? And each choice implied that she would end up dead?

He followed her. It only took a few steps to reach the other wall, but the short walk exhausted Hotch as if he had run a marathon. At the wall Emily turned around; she seemed to have come to a decision. Hotch heard a low growl when she held up her arms so that he would be able to chain her and became aware that the sound had escaped his throat.

"Pull off her jacket before chaining her, please." The stage director from hell spoke adrift of the safety of his gun that lost its daunting effect on Hotch every second. He didn't know how many bullets were left, whether there were bullets in it at all. And even if there were, maybe he would all the same be able to throw himself at the man and overwhelm him. Would Emily consider him her maximum loss if he was killed in action?

The jacket fell to the ground. Emily had taken it off and thrown it regardless aside. The basement was damp and moist and she shivered, probably still had a light fever because of the exhaustion.

Hotch pushed her wrists softly into the chains. They were a bit too high for her height and she had to stretch her body almost painfully to fit in. Although he was hesitant and careful Hotch couldn't prevent that the raw material scraped her skin. Fortunately there was no blood. Yet.

He was so close to her while chaining her up; it was a situation as intimate as disturbing.

"Any ideas...?" She asked with a voice so quiet that the man presumably wouldn't overhear their conversation. Hotch was standing right in front of her and blocking the view so that the man wouldn't be able to see her lips move either. But he had no idea, no plan, no nothing. And he still couldn't bring himself to look squarely into her eyes.

"It's okay..." She whispered, when she realized that he hadn't figured out an escape plan yet. "You don't have to decide anything. This is not your choice and not your fault!"

At this he thought he was going to be sick. Because despite her words it _was_ his fault, his failure, his personal loss. _No, not yet, _he reminded himself. She was still alive. He still had a chance to save her.

He could feel her breath on his cheek and stepped even closer, felt the warmth of her body. Their eyes met and he saw nothing but trust and pure emotion in hers.

"I will never kill you." - "I know."

"I won't let him torture you." - "I know."

Promises that might be broken and both of them knew it.

Pain and desperation surged up within him like a wild animal. He lightly leaned his forehead against hers and hugged her to himself. "I can't..." He had wanted to say _let something happen to you_ or _lose you_, but the words wouldn't come, feelings blocking them. He felt her sigh more than he heard it, a soft breeze of air caressing his face and then her lips brushed his softly and he was drowning.

"Very sweet and heartbreaking." The cold voice hit them to the core. "But I'm afraid, I have to interrupt you two lovebirds due to the seriousness of the situation."

Hotch couldn't bring himself to leave Emily alone although he knew that he would feel the barrel of the gun at the back of his neck any moment.

"I forgive you." He wasn't certain whether he had gotten that right, but she repeated the words. "I forgive you - whatever happens." Her words affected him deeply. Hotch had no time to react though, because the barrel of the gun directed him away from her towards the other side of the room.

Suddenly a realization hit him. He turned around and faced the man.

"How am I supposed to kill her?" Hotch asked and hoped that Emily trusted him enough to not be irritated by his question; a possible way out within reach. The man wouldn't be so delusional to give him the gun, would he? No, apparently not, because he smiled.

"I'm afraid you would have to choose a method that requires no weapon since it would be stupid of me to give you one, now wouldn't it?" His voice sounded taunting with a hint of amusement, like affectionately reproaching a child. Only that his following words didn't fit this tonality at all. "You could... strangle her."

Hotch snorted disparagingly. As if he could close his hands around Emily's throat, skin that he had kissed tenderly not long ago and look into her eyes until life vanished out of them. Then again... He swallowed hard. It was preposterous, yes, for a brief moment though the images had come to life in his head and lingered there. In his imagination it wasn't the lively Emily who watched him thoughtful right now; it was a distorted version of her who already had been severely beaten and tortured. He blinked to dispel the grotesque images.

The man studied Hotch as if this was a lab test. He hadn't really expected him to respond to his suggestion. "Tick-tock." He said. "The clock is ticking. You have a decision to make."

Emily also studied Hotch. His face had given away his inner anguish. Despite his promises and his emotional reaction she was aware that by all means there could be a situation in which he _would_ decide about her fate – and never be able to forgive himself. He was already guilt-ridden and she had no intention to burden him with a choice that wasn't his to make.

The man abruptly turned his attention to Emily. "What would you prefer?" He asked.

_Prefer?_ Well, the "choices" being her immediate death by strangulation or a long painful agony the answer was easy. "None of it." Emily's voice was surprisingly steady. "And just in case you're interested. Ian Doyle never would act like this." A lie. Ian Doyle most likely had acted much worse than this, was responsible for many cruel murders. That wasn't the point though. Prentiss was well aware that Ian Doyle was the man's sore spot. Even in chains she had used her profiling skills better than Hotch who was distracted by his concern for her. At least he didn't miss the chance to tag along.

"Think about it! What would Doyle do?" He asked and saw the man's expression change. He really thought about it, wanted to be Ian Doyle so much. "You knew him better than anyone else." Hotch felt confident. Perhaps this was the opportunity they had waited for. But then Emily spoke again and he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Ian loved Lauren." She said and sounded way too calm for Hotch's taste. "And _I _betrayed him. Ian would never let me get away with this. But he wasn't sadistic. He always did what had to be done – quick and easy." _Was she out of her mind? What was she doing? _Her words were purposely chosen to boost the man's anger and resentment.

Hotch couldn't move, just stared at her. She didn't look at him. Nonetheless he detected the change in her countenance. Emily Prentiss had just rendered his decision redundant. She tried to provoke the man to kill her right now. Her death was a done deal for her.

############

Outside the hall Morgan was talking frantically on the phone to Garcia. "Yes, sunshine. They're in there somewhere and we have to get them out! So you have to find the construction plans." Through the phone he could hear Garcia type even faster than her usual speed of light. "Call me as soon as you have them."

He hung up and addressed Reid and JJ. "Go back to the police station and question Joe Cumber again. Reid, you watched the previous interrogation and know how he ticks. Use that! JJ, you're a woman. Not his type, but nonetheless maybe your presence triggers something. This is no coincidence. It was planned."

Just when the two of them had left Rossi and Morgan heard something from the inside. Muffled and far away but they recognized it. It was the agonized scream of a woman. Emily.

############

**To be continued**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N (1): Chapter 10, yeah! Hadn't thought the story would have that many chapters when I started to write it. And it's a rather long chapter too! Hotch and Emily are still in the basement and there is some more angst, but then the plot moves on. Will they both make it out alive? Read for yourself... **

**Thank you so much for your reviews and story alerts. They are the reason I keep writing! So R&R please – that makes me sooo happy.**

**Disclaimer: This is just for fun! No copyright infringement intended. I own nothing! Criminal Minds belongs to CBS.**

"What are you doing?" Hotch couldn't hold back his anger any longer. Emily had decided to sacrifice herself to spare him the burden of a decision, but he wouldn't let her. She just looked daggers at him though, obviously not willing to let him interfere.

And she seemed to have filtered down to the man. He was caught in his thoughts, tilted his head and decided before long. "I need to see the scar." He said agitated. "The one Ian inflicted on you."

He looked at Hotch with an ominous twinkle in his eyes. "Unbutton her blouse." It was a practical consideration since she couldn't do it herself. An order without any underlying sexual intentions. He really was only interested in the scar. Yet. Nonetheless he knew about the emotional charge between Hotch and Emily and that his request had to affect him.

Hotch couldn't believe how fast the path Emily had taken had outpaced his ability to get in control of the situation. He was demoted to a bystander and this stirred up even more anger in him although he feared for her life at the same time. There was no other option than to play along. So he went up to Emily and stopped only inches in front of her. _Unbutton her blouse! No problem, Sir! Nothing I'd like better than to do that for you! _He wore his anger like a shield. It helped him not to think about what he really felt when he thought about undressing her for another man. Hotch stared at her intensely. He was so close that she couldn't evade him. Nevertheless she tried to, staring right over his shoulder. He couldn't tolerate that! His hand reached out and grabbed her chin, forced her eyes to meet his. "Don't you do that! Look at me!" He spoke through gritted teeth and repeated his earlier words. "What do you think you're doing?"

She was taken aback by his strong reaction; he could tell by the way she had almost flinched when he had grabbed her chin. Emily nearly never flinched. But she didn't know this side of him. Yes, usually he was the respectable professional unit chief. When Aaron Hotchner was cornered though, he could fight and he would fight dirty if need be. She was wrong believing he would accept her decision to sacrifice herself, let alone be thankful for it. Emily still didn't give him an answer, probably knew that it would be pointless to argue, but the look in her eyes had changed. It had softened and he could see her real emotions, the fear and the distress, the strength it had taken her to make the decision. She didn't want all this - just as little as he did.

Hotch let his hands drop to her blouse and reached for the first button. The expression in her eyes indicated that she had again withdrawn into herself, a slight flicker - when his hands eventually undid the button and brushed against her skin in doing so - the only sign that she still apperceived her surroundings.

Emily wanted to scream. Instead she kept her eyes straight ahead, avoided looking at Hotch while his hands undid one button after the other, doing his best no to touch her, but not always succeeding so that she felt a soft contact here and there, when he brushed against her cleavage, her bra, her stomach. What he did wasn't supposed to happen in a dirty basement, shouldn't be the result of an order. She had wanted this to be a tender manifestation of affection between the two of them sometime in the near future, an intimate moment and not a public self-display. It wasn't supposed to happen like this and so it didn't, at least not in the world she had withdrawn into as a protective mechanism.

When Hotch undid the last button the man almost pushed him aside. His movements were quicker now, almost frenzied, not as controlled as before. Perhaps there would be a chance to overwhelm him after all, if he got even more lost in his fantasies of being Ian Doyle or at least mimicking him.

His next words shattered Hotch's escape plans though. Time was running out faster than he had thought. "Your handcuffs." The man said curtly. "Tie yourself to the pipe and throw the key away."

With Prentiss already chained they'd lose their last chance of fighting back if he followed that order. Hotch hesitated, searched for an expedient. Hesitation wasn't tolerated though. The man cocked the gun and pushed it against Emily's temple. He had something in mind, was eager to do it - right now - and had zero patience. It apparently didn't cross his mind that by pushing the gun to her head he almost anticipated her plan to make him kill her quickly. The threat was meant for Hotch though - not her - and worked out. Hotch cuffed himself and threw the key away as told; the pipe at the wall opposite to where Emily was chained forcing him into an uncomfortable crouching position. So far they had managed to survive. But now - with both of them bound - everything was out of control. If the team didn't find them soon none of them would make it out alive.

Somehow Emily's reference to Doyle - and what he would do in a situation like this - had changed the man's behavior. He didn't show that much rage or resentment anymore towards her and seemed to be rather... interested instead. As if she was his link to Doyle. Hotch couldn't tell whether this was a good thing or not. It was good as far as he seemed to have forgotten his original plan to torture her to death shouldn't Hotch kill her so that they both were still breathing. Not so good when the man's hand reached out to touch her scar, the flesh even after several months still red and swollen. He could see how Emily held her breath, when she felt his touch on her skin.

"So beautiful." The man mumbled and Hotch didn't miss the irony that he was talking about the scar and not the woman. Then the man looked at her. "Tell me. What would Ian do now?"

Hotch could see Emily swallow. She might have had a plan, had accepted the worst, her possible death - but theory and practice not always went hand in hand. And she couldn't have foreseen what was happening now. Prentiss wasn't one to back off though. "He would finish what he has started." And that probably wasn't even a lie.

It was as if Hotch wasn't present, an unwanted intruder, a helpless extra who was damned to watch without the capability to influence the plot. His blood ran cold when he saw the man pull out a knife and point it directly at her scar.

"Probably Ian would stab you right where he missed the first time." The man whispered and Hotch saw Emily pale with fear. No matter what she might have decided, she had no death wish and realizing that her plan might actually work and cost her life didn't only frighten him. For once she was dumbstruck.

Hotch used this chance to step in. "No!" He stated with a calm voice that didn't correspond to his inner turmoil. "Ian Doyle wouldn't do that. He wouldn't be so unimaginative to just resume what he has started. He would want to make this unique, special. Remember – he loved her." Hotch hadn't wanted to say that, but somehow the words had found their way out.

"Yes, he loved you." The man hadn't changed his position, the knife still pointed at Emily's body, but at least he was listening. Hotch realized that he was slipping in an uncontrollable state of mind. How could he have been so completely wrong? The man hadn't been delusional when he had kidnapped them; he was breaking down fast though and he hadn't seen it coming. The tip of the knife scratched over the scar and the flesh around it and drew blood. Emily tried to keep her breath even, but it had to hurt. What worried Hotch more though was the look in her eyes. She was on the verge of panic, her protective mechanism didn't work anymore.

"Why did you betray me?" The man caressed Emily's face now, the knife suddenly dangerously close to her eyes. "Why?" He repeated and Hotch could hear the pain in his voice as if he really had been the one to suffer this loss. His hand that held the knife slipped from her face over her throat and down to her cleavage, brushed over her bra and found the scar on her lower stomach again. He clasped her waist with his free hand and started the blood drawing picking at her scar again. "Say you're sorry!"

"I'm sorry..." Emily whispered, but she didn't look at the man. She looked at Hotch.

Hotch pulled at his cuffs and the pipe although he knew that it was futile. This wasn't a movie. In real life you couldn't free yourself just like that. _Damn! Where was the team?_

Emily's breath came in short huffs now. The man clung to her, humming. He had buried his face in her neck and Hotch couldn't see his hand with the knife anymore. It was stuck somewhere between his body and Emily's. What worried Hotch even more was the blood that dripped over Emily's leg onto the ground. He couldn't tell whether it was his blood or hers. Blood from a severe wound in any case.

Then Hotch heard the words that let his heart stop. "Are you ready?" A question addressed at Emily and there was no doubt what it meant. Her eyes searched Hotch's and obviously found there what she was looking for because the panic and fear made way for a resigned sadness and acceptance. This was it and she knew it.

Hotch had thrown himself forward with full force before he even realized it. The instinct to get to her and save her stronger than his wits telling him that he couldn't. "Leave her alone, you bastard!" He yelled and his voice was hoarse and raw like he had never spoken before. Desperate beyond imagination he kept yelling unintelligible words, but it didn't matter anymore. Emily would die and Hotch would have to watch.

Except – that wasn't what the man had in mind.

"Oh, yes, you're sorry!" He repeated her words, saturated with sarcasm. "And you should be, because you betrayed Ian Doyle and what would he do to punish you?" There was no answer expected; he was talking himself into a frenzy. "What would he do to punish you for the loss he felt, the loss of his loved one - you?" He turned around so that he faced Hotch and suddenly it was so clear what was about to happen Hotch almost would have laughed, hadn't it been so... sad. Yes, someone was to die right now. Save that it wasn't Emily. It was him. The man knew about them and had decided that her worst punishment was his death.

Only now Hotch saw that the man's hands were soaked in blood. He felt sick and looked at Emily, whose stomach had the same bloody stain. It was impossible to constitute whether the blood was hers or his. The man threw the knife away and approached Hotch with the gun. _Classic behavior of a heterosexual man_, the thought crossed Hotch's mind despite the life-threatening situation and the adrenaline rush. Once a profiler, always a profiler. _He used the knife for the woman to show his dominance as a man and uses the gun for the man, because there is no sexual context._

Of course Emily also understood what was about to happen and now it was her turn to pull at the chains as if her pure will was enough to free herself.

Time slowed down... and stopped when the man aimed at Hotch and pulled the trigger. The shot was deafening in the small room.

"Nooooo..." Emily's cry was as heartbreaking as loud – so loud that Morgan and Rossi could hear it.

############

They recognized her voice in an instant. There was no doubt that they just had heard Prentiss scream.

"Emily!" Morgan threw himself at the door even if he knew by now that they weren't able to pry it open – at least not with the material that was available on site, which was basically nothing than their physical strength and their weapons.

Rossi strained to hear. "Was that a shot?" He pondered. "I think what we hear depends on the frequency. High tones are carried over better than low ones."

It took Morgan some more futile efforts to kick in the door to exhaust his body enough to give in. Inside the cries had become silent.

"At least we know Emily's still alive." Rossi said, but Morgan only snorted.

"All we know is she _was_ alive when she screamed." He corrected Rossi harshly, just when his phone rang.

"Please tell me you found something." It was Garcia and of course she had found the construction plans Morgan had asked for. She sent them on his phone, explaining to him in doing so how to read them and where he would find the rear entrance of the basement – _if _no-one had bricked it up in the meantime and _if _whoever was most likely in there with Hotch and Emily didn't already know about it and had made sure that no-one would be able to get in.

She hadn't even finished when Morgan started to run, shouting at Rossi to watch the door in case they would come out up front. Something they both highly doubted – you don't install a door with reinforced steel to prevent whoever from getting in and then walk out as if nothing had happened. But with an unsub you could never know and they wouldn't take any chances.

Morgan sprinted up the stairs and was blinded by the sun outside. He had to run around the whole building to get to the reverse side where Garcia had found the rear entrance. He was fit and fast; nonetheless he was pushing his body to its limits and his lungs were protesting. When he had eventually reached the back of the building he was glad to stop and give his body a rest. Not for long though. He had found the small entrance right behind a projection on a wall. The door was old and rusty and looked as if no-one had opened it for years. Morgan hoped that the projection on a wall had hidden it well enough so that whoever was in there hadn't seen it when most likely checking the surroundings before the deed.

He felt his heart beating much too fast. His pulse already had slowed down again; the run – although exhausting – nothing out of the ordinary for him. His heart beat though was the indicator that this case had gotten to him. Something had happened. Either Hotch and Emily had walked into a trap Joe Cumber had set or there was – at least – one other person involved and they were held hostage. All the same his colleagues and friends were missing and this wasn't just a case anymore. This was personal.

Morgan reached for the knob and tried to open the door – expecting it to be locked. It wasn't causing him to ponder whether he should be cheerful and consider himself lucky or alarmed that this might be another trap.

Behind the door there was nothing but darkness. Morgan had only a small flashlight with him and didn't want to use it in case there was someone in there ambushing him. So he slipped in carefully and waited a few seconds until his eyes had adjusted to the darkness as effectively as possible.

From the construction plans he knew that the basement was huge. Most likely Emily – and perhaps also Hotch – were closer to the steel door than to this entrance. Otherwise he and Rossi wouldn't have been able to hear the scream. The memory of Emily's haunted scream made him move faster. He followed the seemingly endless dark corridors until he saw a dim light around the next corner. Morgan pressed himself against the wall and held his breath, listened.

Voices... Not straight behind the corner, but he could hear someone talk... no, yell, and it was definitely the voice of a woman. Emily. Morgan couldn't make out her words. There was someone answering her though and despite the distance and the muffled sound he was almost certain that it wasn't Hotch. He didn't want to think about what this spelled for Hotch's fate. Right now he was only collecting facts. One possible kidnapper. One colleague alive. The other possibly wounded or dead. Get out as many of your own people alive as possible. Minimize the losses.

Morgan slipped into a huge room, almost like a hall, registered the body in the middle of it, would have been devastated to see it hadn't he heard Prentiss talk before, because the body looked like her. He sneaked closer to an adjusting room with a very small entrance that left no way of entering unnoticed. They were in there. He was close enough now to hear what they were saying. Emily was pleading, her voice short of breaking. Morgan had never heard her talk before with such a wavering voice. His body tensed. He had been right. _One colleague possibly wounded or dead._ There wasn't time to call for back up or contrive a plan. He had to...

There was a shot. Right there in the next room. Without hesitation Morgan leaped in the dark.

############

She had to be hallucinating. She could see Morgan, gun drawn, standing in the middle of the room.

"Freeze!" He yelled, taking in the situation, trying to remain calm at what he saw. The blood, the chains, Hotch on the ground. What had happened here? He felt as if he had walked into a nightmare. And then he saw the face of the kidnapper, looking like Ian Doyle, and wasn't sure he was awake.

"Morgan!" Emily's voice, overflowing with relief. The rescue troops were here. Then she realized Morgan didn't know who the man was. "It's not him." She warned him, just when their kidnapper greeted his guest.

"Agent Morgan!" The man said and directed his gun at him. A stand-off.

"What is this?" Morgan again. "Are you hurt?" Talking to Emily, worried about the blood on her, worried about the whole situation – the chains, her unbuttoned blouse, the wall with the photos.

"I'm fine." An answer but not really to his question. Perhaps she was hurt and it _was_ her blood and her usual self just didn't bother enough to tell him. "It's about Hotch..." Her voice broke.

Hotch lay on the ground and wasn't moving, one of his hands cuffed to a pipe. Morgan swept the ground around him for blood. There was some, but not enough for a fatal gun wound. At least he hoped so. Anyway they needed medical attention in here as soon as possible.

"What happened to him?" Morgan addressed Emily again while keeping an eye on the man with the gun and slowly approaching Hotch.

"He shot him." Even if she was devastated she was an agent and knew she had to report the facts. "Twice." Her voice exuded hatred. "He missed the first time. The second shot hit him..." Her voice broke again. "...in the head, I think. He fell over and hasn't reacted since."

Morgan squatted down next to Hotch, searched for a pulse and found one – faint but steady. He could see a bloody streak at his temple. Probably the bullet had grazed his head and knocked him out.

"He's alive." He stated and saw Emily's knees almost give in. Hadn't it been for the chains that held her up she would have gone down.

"Please..." The man who looked like Ian Doyle commanded attention, his voice inappropriately apologetic as if he was grief-stricken that he couldn't offer Morgan a cup of tea or at least a seat. Bit by bit Morgan detected the inconsistencies in his face. The fine differences between him and the real Doyle. It still was surreal and he had no explanation. He had Emily's statement that it wasn't Doyle though and that was all he needed to know. Then something odd happened. The man took a step closer to Morgan.

"So I guess this is it." He said strangely. "Things have to come to an end. And so they will. One way or the other."

Morgan recognized final words when he heard them.

"Hey, hey!" He raised a hand to stop him. "Don't move and drop the gun!"

It still was a stand-off. Their guns watching each other like snakes biding which one would attack first. But the man wouldn't stand still and took another step forward. Even at this range none of them would miss. The room was too small. And Morgan didn't wear his bulletproof vest. They hadn't reckoned on walking into a trap.

"Stop! Don't go any further!"

Another step.

"Stop or I'll shoot you!"

And another.

Morgan shot him.

He had tried to target the shoulder and not any vital organs, but the man had moved a little at the last second although he hadn't pulled the trigger himself. There was a lot of blood on the ground and the man's breath was raspy, blood weeping out of his nose and mouth. He tried to say something. "My name is... My name..." Then he was gone, his eyes dead and cold. The man without a name had vainly tried to tell them who he was.

Morgan went up to Prentiss and unchained her. Her wrists were badly scratched open. Obviously she had tried very hard to free herself. Morgan wanted to examine her stomach to check for any wounds that could have caused a severe blood loss, but she already was at Hotch's side.

"Where are the keys?" She was sweeping the ground for the keys to take off the handcuffs. Morgan found them in a corner and helped her, informing Rossi simultaneously over the radio that he had found them both alive and that they needed the medics down here.

Emily was kneeling next to Hotch and holding his hand, obviously utterly relieved that they both had made it, but still concerned because he hadn't gained consciousness yet. The gesture moved Morgan and reminded him how much they all meant to each other and how fragile life was.

Her blouse was still open and he tried again to look at her bloody stomach. This time she let him. Carefully he checked for a severe wound but found none, only several scratches from a knife – painful, yes, but not life threatening.

"He didn't stab me." Emily said, oblivious to his touch, her eyes on Hotch the whole time. "These are only insignificant scratches." Well, at least in her world. "He turned the blade of the knife in his hands. That's where the blood is from." Morgan hadn't been there when that had happened. The thought that the man had been close enough to her – chained and half undressed - to soak her in his blood, sickened him. He sat down beside her and put his arms around her shoulders. It felt good to hold her, touch her warm body as physical proof that she was alive. Morgan would never admit it, but he had been more concerned about her safety than about Hotch's, just because they were closer as friends.

"It's okay." He said and maybe he was comforting himself more than her. "It's over."

He shut his eyes and welcomed the exhaustion, the relief that he had managed to save them both.

############

**To be continued**

**A/N (2): I faced you with so many mean twists and cliffhangers in the last chapters that I didn't want to do this again. So Hotch and Prentiss are both safe and will survive. Somehow it almost felt like the end of the story when I wrote it, but of course there is some more H/P interaction needed to wrap things up. So stick around if you like. I'd be glad! ;-)**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: So now that Hotch and Emily are no longer held hostage in the basement I felt it was time to wrap some things up. And this doesn't only concern the both of them (even if they are the main focus), but also the rest of the team and... Joe Cumber. I bet you have almost forgotten the sadistic murderer who started all this. Well he is still there and – well, find out for yourself... My plan is to have approximately three more chapters (including this one). One (this one) with a comforting H/P scene, one with an angry/sexy H/P scene and – of course - THE big finale. The two of them still have a lot of stuff to work out. And I really hope you will stick around to find out.**

**I say it every time, but I can't say it enough times: Thank you all so much for your reviews and story alerts! I cheered when I saw that the review count exceeded 50! When I started writing this story I wasn't sure anyone would be interested or read it at all so this excites me every day anew.**

**So please R&R!**

The ambulance took off at sundown. Hotch was still unconscious – but not in a critical condition - and Morgan accompanied him to the hospital. Emily had wanted nothing more than to stay at Hotch's side, but she was too exhausted to argue or explain anything and knew Morgan would take good care of him.

Several teams searched the building right now, perpetuated evidence and catalogued the traces that had been left on their tragic journey through the basement. A mortuary van waited outside to transport Joe Cumber's last victim to the morgue. Standard procedure. An unsub had died; reports had to be written. That would have to wait though.

The paramedics had examined Prentiss, determined that her wounds required some stitches, and albeit allowed her to get to the hospital on her own. Probably they were glad to have Rossi drive her. She was grumpy and tired, not in a pleasant mood. The occurrences of the day had worn her down. She had no energy left to be politically correct.

Emily had taken her time though to inform Morgan and Rossi about what she knew. The man without a name. The torture chamber. Fragments. Some memories were lost due to her head wound. In between she had been dizzy and not aware of her surroundings. This also would have to wait until Hotch could make his statement.

With Rossi it usually was a comfortable silence, but not this time. They were on their way to the hospital. When she looked out of the car window, she could feel him dart a glance at her. "Penny for your thoughts."

"Ten bucks if you leave me alone." Prentiss sighed and sensed his smile. At this she had to smile too. She knew he only meant well for her and deserved a real answer.

"I'm just tired." She said. "And longing for a shower." Morgan had given her his sweater so that she could pull off her bloody blouse that went straight into an evidence bag. Yet the metallic scent of blood clung to her and mixed with the dust and filth of the basement, let alone the touch of hands who had wanted to kill her. She felt dirty in more ways than one.

Rossi on the other hand wasn't known for letting someone off the hook that easily. "What is this with you and Hotch?" Cutting right to the chase of the matter.

She should have anticipated it. Nonetheless her first reflex was denial. "Nothing."

His silence told her all she needed to know. He had caught them outside of the interrogation room and wouldn't let her stall him.

"God, Dave!" Emily rubbed her eyes, suddenly feeling even more exhausted. "I don't know what to say. It's... complicated."

"Isn't it always?" He said softly and someone else could have mistaken this for irony when it was indeed anything but. He knew how she felt. It _was_ always complicated.

"Wanna talk about it?" Rossi wouldn't let it go. "Before the frenzy starts. The press, the doctors, Strauss. Before we all go back to our daily routine and it gets even more complicated." He wouldn't let it got and he was right. The moment they would slip into their old roles everything that had happened would vanish. Prentiss wouldn't believe that this was possible hadn't she done it before.

She opened her mouth, willing to share her feelings with him, but the words wouldn't come. She didn't know what to say.

"I don't know what this is between us." Emily eventually mumbled - and as vague as it was, it also was true.

"Do you want it to end?" Rossi was guiding her and she let him. He was a good guide.

"No." She shook her head and stopped immediately because it hurt like hell. "Ouch! Damn!"

"No." Prentiss repeated softly but firmly – this time without the painful head-shaking.

"Well, then - one of you will have to start it." Confucius had nothing on him! Emily almost began to explain that they had already started "it", when she realized that he didn't mean that. He meant a real relationship, something that wouldn't exist only in her apartment and in hidden corners.

"I don't know how." She admitted. "It's all so... _complicated_." He said the last word at the same time she did and they laughed out loud.

"Isn't it always?" Emily said and suddenly she didn't feel so tired anymore.

"It doesn't have to be." Rossi looked at her sincerely and the car came to a halt.

They had reached the hospital.

############

Prentiss was a bad patient. She hated waiting. She hated being helpless. She needed more stitches than the paramedics had told her. She wanted to leave. Somewhere in between Rossi got Morgan to deal with her.

"Hey!" Morgan entered the treatment room and detected Emily sitting on a gurney. The doctor had just finished stitching up her wounds and left and the nurse was cleaning up. "Sorry, Sir! You can't be in here." She started to shoo him out of the room.

"It's okay." Emily told her at the same time Morgan flashed his badge. Now that the treatment was finished, she was in a much better mood.

She had pulled off the sweater and sat there only in her pants and bra. They had washed off the blood and the fresh scars on her pale skin stood out. Morgan saw the old scars too and only now she realized that he would, slipping the sweater hastily back on.

He didn't know how to react. From her statement and Cumber's allusions he had known about the scars. Seeing them was different, yes. But they didn't distort her and he wasn't put off.

Prentiss still sat on the gurney and he went up to her, his face at eye level with hers. He stood between her legs and yet there was nothing sexual in his actions. Morgan just pulled her into an embrace and held her as close as he had done before in the basement. It felt so good. He slid his hand under the sweater, touched the scars on her back.

She tensed briefly and relaxed again. Morgan wasn't the enemy; he would never do her any harm. And most of all he would never lie to her.

"You're still beautiful." He murmured into her hair and then pulled back to look at her. "Don't ever make yourself believe anything else!"

For a moment he thought she was near to tears. But of course she wouldn't allow herself this emotional slip and pulled herself together. So he pretended not to notice her breathy voice when she finally spoke. "Now... Rossi sent you here to babysit? Aren't you all incredibly concerned about me!"

Morgan smiled. Yes, they were, and she loved it, but would never ever admit this.

############

When Morgan and Emily went out of the treatment room, they ran right into Hotch. Rossi was with him.

"Wow!" Morgan took a step back. "Shouldn't you rather be in a hospital bed? You have a pretty nasty head wound!"

Hotch looked over Morgan's shoulder right at Emily. "So has she." He said with the right amount of concern in his voice. The two of them had escaped the grim reaper. No wonder he wanted to check on her. Nothing more than that.

Prentiss knew that Rossi had to roll his eyes inwardly, even if he didn't show any outward reaction, and she wondered if it always had to be like this from now on. None of them acting publicly as they wanted. At least how _she_ wanted. It was odd to stand right next to him without being able to hold him, touch him, ask him how he felt. With the other team members there was at least the chance of a hug or soothing words. But Hotch had observed the boundaries always so strictly that she couldn't cross this invisible line without attracting unwanted attention. And she would never do that to him.

"We're going back to the police station." Hotch still stood in front of Morgan, studying Emily. Perhaps it wasn't only her who considered this an odd situation, who wanted to act differently. She really hoped so.

"Wait! You don't have to stay here? You have been unconscious for a while." Morgan again.

Hotch turned around. "I'm leaving against medical advice." He stated the obvious and was already on his way to the car.

Morgan looked at Emily and raised an eyebrow. Even for Hotch this was unusual behavior, because there was no imminent danger anymore. He could have stayed and let them check him out thoroughly.

Since he was the unit chief there was no reason though to question his decision and they followed him outside. Prentiss could feel Rossi's stare between her shoulder blades as if he was nudging her. _Told you so! _

############

Now it was Morgan's turn to drive, even if Prentiss had preferred Rossi to do that. This would have given him less opportunity to observe her and Hotch in the rearview mirror. She tried to meet Rossi's eyes in the mirror. _Stop that! Screw you!_

When she had seen Hotch at the hospital the urge to be near to him had been very strong. It had been nothing though compared to what she felt now. He was sitting right next to her. If she moved over just a little their legs would touch and perhaps she could only... She let her hand drop on the back seat, gave him a chance to touch it unnoticed. _Please give me at least that!_

And he did – without hesitation. His hand not only rested beside hers, he put it over hers, covered it. Emily hadn't expected herself to react so keenly. Her emotions almost overwhelmed her. They could have been dead! And here they were wounded but alive and denied themselves the most instinctive response – mutual comfort.

She swallowed and turned her face away, pretended to look outside even if there was nothing to see. Nonetheless she couldn't prevent the tears from falling. Emily Prentiss was human after all.

The engine noise covered her quiet sobs and she used her other arm to wipe away the tears. Hotch noticed them anyway. Despite her original intention to get closer to him she sheered off from him now and pressed herself against the side door in an effort to get as far away from him as possible.

She kept stubbornly looking outside, when she felt his hand touch her arm. "Prentiss, everything okay?"

_Oh, no! He could't really do that! _Reduce her to his agent after all that had happened. For crying out loud, she almost had _died_ for this man today! She could live with ignorance, with denial, but not with this false pretense to be nice to her. _At least call me Emily_, she thought whiningly and hated herself for being weak and dependent. She felt the lump in her throat and wasn't certain how much longer she would be able to control herself.

Not for long – because his hand was insisting, pulling at her, pulling her to him. But it was her name that pushed her over the edge. Of course he had called her by her first name before, although rarely in the line of duty, when the other team members were around. And in a situation like this, much too personal for his regular tactics, it usually was an absolute no-go.

"Emily..." She hadn't noticed that he had come so close and he still pulled her closer, until she was in his embrace. There were no tears anymore, but she was shivering uncontrollably now. _Everybody has a breaking point. _It wasn't Joe Cumber's torture that had broken her or Ian Doyle's attempt to kill her, not even the last hours in the basement. It only had taken Hotch's voice and her name.

Hotch felt her body tense up and just slowly relax. She was a bundle of arms and legs, her face buried in his neck, her hands clinging to his shirt. He smelled the shampoo of her hair, the dust of the basement and a slight whiff of Morgan, because she still wore his sweater.

Perhaps she believed that it had been easy for him to dissemble his feelings at the hospital. She was wrong. He hated the thought that he hadn't been with her while she had gotten the medical treatment. When he had seen her come out of the room together with Morgan he had been glad that she wasn't alone. Yet it should have been him not Morgan. She was the main reason he had decided to leave the hospital AMA. He needed to be with her; there were so many unfinished businesses between them that he had stopped counting. The doctors had wanted him to stay, but it wasn't life threatening if he didn't, so he hadn't thought twice about it. Hotch was aware that he was different around her. Not on the outside, but inside. He thought differently, decided differently and he was precarious whether this was a good thing or not. Anyway he had to find out.

Morgan and Rossi were silent. Prentiss' breakdown hadn't come unexpected. She had gone through one personal hell too many and they shared her pain; the occurrences of the last days so vigorous that even Morgan - who didn't know about Hotch and Emily - didn't wonder why Hotch comforted her in such a personal way.

The ring tone of Morgan's phone broke the silence. It was JJ, wanting an update on Hotch's and Emily's condition. Plus she had news. Bad news. They could see it in Morgan's face. His expression had become dark.

"How?" He asked and listened to her explanation. Then after a short pause. "He has what?" Irritation. Morgan hang up.

Emily had calmed down and sat beside Hotch again. They were closer now so that their legs were touching. Rossi couldn't see their hands, but he was certain that Hotch had found an unobtrusive way to hold her hand.

Morgan frowned. "Joe Cumber has killed himself." He told the others.

############

**To be continued**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: After the team is reunited they have to deal with a disturbing discovery - even post mortem Joe Cumber has a little surprise for them. **

**This chapter also includes the promised "angry/sexy" interaction between H/P. Actually this interaction is a good deal of the fairly long chapter, so enjoy! As usual I tried to stay in character as much as possible and hope it worked well. Rating for some bad language, but I think you can handle that. ;-)**

**Thanks for reading and reviewing my story. Reviews and alerts make my day!**

When they arrived at the police station there was a nervous bustle. A suspect had died, killed himself. No-one felt bad that Joe Cumber, who had confessed to the vicious murder of four women as well as kidnapping and torturing Prentiss several years ago, was dead. Yet someone had to take the blame. Albeit his belt and shoelaces had been taken away, he had managed to get at a rope long enough to hang himself. The easy way out – if one may say so.

Hotch and Emily earned some curious oblique glances because of their filthy and bloody clothes. As soon as JJ and Reid discovered them there was no holding back though. JJ hugged them both – but especially Emily – as if she never wanted to let go again. Even Reid embraced Emily and gave Hotch a pat on the back. One of the rare moments in which he showed a public display of affection. Most of the time he seemed to forget that besides a brain he also had a heart.

Now that they were altogether Hotch took the opportunity to fill the team in on what had happened in the basement where they had walked right into the trap of Ian Doyle's former stand-in. Reid and JJ had had no chance to interrogate Joe Cumber again, who had given them the address and effectively let them walk into the trap. He already had been dead when they had returned to the police station. But involuntarily the man, who had mimicked Doyle, had done them a favor revealing the connection between himself and Joe Cumber to Hotch when he had held him and Emily hostage. The alleged facts still needed to be verified - Garcia was already checking and rechecking - but hopefully it was just a matter of time and they would be able to close not only one but two files all at once.

Joe Cumber's suicide was not a case for the BAU. The police station would have to deal with the aftermaths. There was one thing left for the team to do though.

"Where is the body?" Hotch asked sternly and one of the officers showed him the way.

"Um... Hotch..." Morgan interrupted. JJ had told him something on the phone earlier that he wanted Hotch to know _before_ he took a look at Joe Cumber's body. And before Emily did it.

Morgan went up to Hotch and talked to him in whispers. Reid and JJ knew what he was talking about; only Rossi and Emily were left in the dark – and not amused.

"Can we join in?" Rossi. It was a rhetorical question. Had Morgan wanted them to hear what he had to say he had spoken out loud.

Just as surprisingly as the curt talk between Morgan and Hotch had started it was finished. Morgan's words had prompted Hotch to glimpse over at Emily in between. Obviously Morgan had told him something concerning her and left it to his discretion how to deal with the information.

"If I need to know something you better tell me now." Prentiss was done with secrets for today.

"Hotch..." JJ – concern in her voice.

"What?" Emily. Annoyed. "Can someone _please_ tell me what's going on here?"

Morgan darted a glance at Hotch who nodded. "They have detected something on Joe Cumber's body." Hotch said with a low voice to Emily. "I think you should see it, but you should be prepared." He turned around and went to a backroom where Joe Cumber's body was laid out until it would be taken to the mortuary. His body lay on a gurney, waiting for further processing.

Rossi and Hotch approached the body; Emily right behind them. Reid, JJ and Morgan waited at the door. They knew already what kind of stories it told – even post mortem. Joe Cumber's shirt had been ripped open during the attempts to revive him so that his bare chest was exposed.

This time Emily's compartmentalizing skills were slow off the mark. She inhaled sharply. Joe Cumber's chest looked as if someone had used it as a chessboard. Scars much worse than hers. Deeper, an infinite deal more, but – there was a pattern. Emily couldn't avert her eyes, a morbid fascination holding them in place and then suddenly she saw it and turned around, looked at the one person who would have noticed it instantly. Reid nodded and confirmed her assumption. Even if Joe Cumber had more and worse marks - among them were exactly the scars he had inflicted on Emily while he had kept her under control.

"It's the same on his back." Reid said. With his eidetic memory he had remembered every wound and scar Prentiss had described in her statement about how Cumber had tortured her and detected its counterpart on Joe Cumber's body. If they ever had needed proof that Cumber had been imprisoned by Ian Doyle as punishment for what he had done to Emily this was it. Doyle had taken revenge. And he had taken his time.

They had seen enough. Emily knew that she shouldn't feel happy about another person's death, shouldn't consider it compensation that he had suffered at least as much as she had, but she couldn't change the way she felt and didn't want to. At least not today. Tomorrow she would be a better person again, but today she just wanted to celebrate that Joe Cumber was dead. She hadn't realized that one of her hands had stretched out to touch one of Cumber's scars, until Hotch softly grabbed her wrist and stopped her. The body hadn't been properly examined yet and they had to be careful not to tamper with evidence.

Hotch's eyes met hers and she saw his pain and... something else. "He must have loved you very much to take revenge so detailed, almost obsessed." He said and there was no doubt that he was talking about Ian Doyle.

Prentiss didn't respond. None of the team did. They didn't know what to make out of Hotch's words, too personal to fit his usual behavior. Then again it wasn't a usual day.

The silence prolonged and became almost uncomfortable. Emily turned around and left the room. The others followed. There was nothing here for them to do anymore.

############

JJ found her in the restroom. Emily had needed a break, a moment on her own to sort things out - at least roughly. To expect more on a day like this would be presumptuous. She splashed water on her face and indulged in feeling nothing but the cold.

Emily knew that JJ had come to check on her, but she approved it. At first she had had problems with the team being close and taking care of each other. It was something she hadn't been used to, accustomed to taking care of herself. Now she even liked it. A little warmth in a cold world.

"Penelope says – and I quote: _Don't you ever do that to us again_!" JJ stood behind Prentiss as she toweled down her face and when their eyes met in the mirror they smiled.

"Yeah, I really should stop attracting psychos on a regular basis!" Emily joked sadly. She missed Garcia right now. Penelope was the only one who _never_ held back her sentiments, like a breeze of fresh air in all this darkness and political swamp. "Trust me." She sighed wistfully. "If I knew what to change so that some whacko doesn't choose me as his preferred target, I'd do it any time."

The words were meant to be funny, but the painful underlying truth brought tears to JJ's eyes. "Oh, Emily, I don't know how you stand all this... If I can do anything..."

"You're here. That's a lot." Emily said firmly.

They hugged briefly and JJ informed Emily that the team had decided to call it a day and drive back to the hotel.

"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you." JJ added when they left the restroom. "Hotch wants to talk to you before you take off; probably about the reports you have to give. I leave with the others and the two of you will hopefully be done here soon so that you can follow us."

Like they had done a million times before. Nothing particular about it. Save that Emily would have been ready to bet her yearly salary that Hotch didn't want to talk about a report.

############

It was dark outside and the police station was quieter now. Only the nightshift was still there. Emily found Hotch in the conference room. The now empty battlefield. He pushed together the files on the table and piled them up to a neat stack, always keeping things in order, always in control.

As he noticed her he sat down at the table and showed her to do the same. So it _was_ an official meeting after all.

"A lot has happened today." He started and she almost had to laugh. _No shit, Sherlock!_ "But there is one thing I believe we have to talk about so that I can come to a conclusion." Hotch paused and looked at her sternly. The urge to laugh had gone. This sounded serious. _A conclusion about what? The case? Them?_ For an irrational moment Emily feared that he would ask her to leave the team. Then she reprimanded herself. He would never do that, now wouldn't he?

"Do you have a death wish?" His expression was serious, concerned.

The urge to laugh was back again and this time she didn't suppress it. "What?" She blurted out.

He was unimpressed, almost stoic. "I need to know." He clarified. "As your unit chief I need to know whether it's safe to put you in the field or not. Otherwise you might require some counseling first."

When she realized that he wasn't joking she searched for an answer, but couldn't come up with anything remotely satisfying. "No." She finally just said, feeling irritation and tension rise inwardly.

Hotch studied her and she felt uncomfortable under his scrutinizing look. As if he looked directly into her head.

"You were quick to resolve on your own death today." He explained. "Almost without hesitation as if you don't care whether you are alive or not."

"Do you mean _before_ or _after_ you were forced to choose between killing me or watching me being slowly tortured to death?" Two could play that game.

A shadow crossed his face. She had touched a nerve. Even if he was concerned about her mental health, this was about much more. Emily swallowed down her anger that she had to justify her actions. He had been there. He knew there had been no other way out.

"There's a difference between wanting to die and accepting your death as inevitable when there are no other options left." She stated and searched his eyes before she continued. "It was no option for me to let you kill me and take the blame."

"I never would have..." Hotch hesitated, couldn't bring himself to say it, then forced the words out anyway. "...killed you." He was aware that this was only a half-truth, whitewashing that he never _really_ had to choose, because the torture never actually started since Prentiss had more or less successful distracted the whacko.

Now it was her turn to look pensively. Her efforts to distract their kidnapper almost had ended up with Hotch's death. Her stomach cramped at the thought. She remembered the moment when she had realized that her plan had utterly gone wrong. The moment Hotch had been shot and she had seen his body fall.

Hotch didn't know what she was thinking, but he had a pretty good idea. Even if they both sat here in the conference room their thoughts and feelings still were trapped in the basement.

"I just need to understand." He said. "As your direct supervisor I have the obligation to estimate your ability to act responsible."

It was like swimming in the ocean. One wave let her float out to sea and the next brought her closer to the shore. She couldn't tell whether she was angry or sad, her emotions pulling her to him one moment and pushing her away the next. After their brief close moment in the car she had hoped that they would be able to sort things out without this role play of superior and agent. She had questions as well, but unlike him couldn't hide behind the threat of disability for service – or perhaps she could.

"If you are so concerned about my mental health..." She started and felt fury gain the upper hand. "...then perhaps I should quit. I don't want to burden you or the team, _Sir_." The last word had slipped out unwittingly, a sarcastic pointer to the fact that he clung so stubbornly to their role allocation when it actually was much more personal. Even if she was just provoking him, the fear was there straight away. _What if he took advantage of her offer? What if he asked her to quit? _But essentially her provocation pursued the purpose to make him back off, not to insist on admitting why it had been so easy for her to accept her fate. _Never raise a question if you don't know the answer. You might not be able to deal with it._

"I don't want you to leave the team." He wouldn't let her provoke him although she had noticed the subtlety that he didn't want her to leave _the team_, so leaving him wasn't explicitly excluded. "I just need to understand." Hotch repeated his earlier words and she sighed, eventually gave in. If he really wanted to go there then she would.

"No, I don't have a death wish." Emily's voice was steady. This was textbook now. Only that she had tried to avoid reading it to him. "But don't forget that I've been trained for situations like this. You can't be undercover without the acceptance that things might go wrong and get you killed in the long run. I just resorted to that trained skill when I realized there was no other way out. You don't think of it as dying in a situation like this. It's just a possible ending and the best you can come up with for everybody involved."

Hotch had been concerned. As her superior and her... whatever. He had chosen the role of the unit chief to ask her about it, because he hadn't known how else to address the subject. But this... her answer was much worse than he had feared. This was nothing you could fix with some therapy sessions. This - her job outranking her life - was trained behavior, meaning that she would do it again under similar conditions. Meaning that he could lose her any time, because they were confronted with similar conditions almost every day.

"So it all comes back to Doyle one way or the other." He stated disillusioned and suddenly looked broken.

"Doyle wasn't my only undercover mission." Emily repelled, even if basically – yes – that was what it came back to. When she had gone undercover on Doyle she had settled her affairs; not because she was about to die, but because she had given up her identity to an extent she had never done before and somehow that had been even worse than accepting her own death. After that she had been different. The BAU had given her back some of her previous self, but the buttons were still there, someone just had to push them and immediately she was ready to jump without the safety of a double bottom.

"So what do we do now?" She asked when Hotch didn't react. He looked thoughtful, obviously considered ways and means and then came to a conclusion.

"You're mentally stable." He determined. "You require no counseling, but from now on this _trained behavior_ has no place in the field anymore. There can always be a situation in which one might need to take the bullet for someone else, but this can't happen as reckless as you were willing to do it today." Hotch paused to enforce his argument. "This is an order."

_Of course! What else would it be? _He really thought that he could change her, _fix_ her – just like that. Give someone an order and everything is fine again. He stared at her, waited for her response.

"Ask me." Emily said and caught him completely off guard.

"What?" His face showed pure bewilderment.

"Ask me why I acted so _reckless_ today – as you labeled it." He had given her a damn order as if he really wasn't aware why she had acted that way.

Hotch noticed the change in her mood and body language. He had sensed her anger in between, but her body had been relaxed so far although it wasn't a comfortable situation. Now her mood had darkened and her body had tensed up. She prepared to fight.

Just when he was pondering on these changes, she got up and approached him. He hadn't been aware that he had risen too until he realized that they were standing face to face. She had left some room between them. Probably enemy turf right now.

Emily looked Hotch straight in the eye. "Perhaps I wouldn't have been so _reckless_, had it been someone else with me in the basement today. Someone I'm not... involved with."

He knew she was right. How could he deny it? Here he was giving her orders when it was his presence that endangered her the most. And vice versa.

"You want to give me an order, _Aaron_?" He flinched. It sounded like an insult and probably was meant as one. She had never used his first name before; the abbreviation of his last name had somehow become a surrogate for it. All the team members used it that way. Did it feel like that for her? As if he was insulting her by giving her this order?

"Isn't it nice that everything can be fixed with an order? Just like that!" She snapped her fingers. "Why bother with talking to each other? Makes me wonder what order I failed to hear when you came to my apartment and fucked me." Hotch was taken aback. He couldn't have felt worse if she had slapped him. And her words wouldn't stop. "Oh, and what order allowed you to ditch me right after? Sorry, I didn't get the memo." He raised a hand, wanted her to end and at the same time knew with a crucial clarity that this was necessary like a purifying rain washing away the dirt. Emily still wasn't finished. "You're worried about Doyle? About how much he _loved_ me? Let me tell you something. When it comes to love the two of you are very alike. You know _nothing_ about it."

She stopped, her body vibrating with rage and energy that needed release. Hotch saw that she clenched her fists and wasn't certain whether he had to expect to be knocked down any moment. No-one had talked to him like that before. He was surprised that he didn't feel more anger. Perhaps because he was aware that she was right – at least partway. He had treated her as if he could command her in private as well as in the field. As if she had to obey whatever he imposed. The realization embarrassed him. She had no right to compare him to Doyle though. At that thought he felt a sharp sting of rage. Like her he was shaken too. He just didn't have her level of impulsiveness to show it that openly. Hotch defined himself as a man of wits and words, but the words had gone missing.

Emily wanted to hit him – badly. She knew that later on she would regret her words, deliberately chosen to hurt him. But right now she was too furious to worry about that. And it only made her even more furious that he didn't react. Apart from the hand he had raised in between to interrupt her there was no sign that this affected him at all. She couldn't tolerate that! And she knew only one way to provoke a reaction.

With one step she closed the gap between them and kissed him harshly.

That got her a reaction! He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her away. She let him. Still he was lost for words even if his eyes pleaded with her. Prentiss wasn't in the mood to forgive and forget though.

"Don't you feel anything?" Somehow her hands had found their way to his chest and she felt his heart racing. So he wasn't _that_ unaffected after all.

"Stop that!" Ah, he had regained the ability to speak.

"I'd love to!" Sarcasm oozed out of every word she said. "But you have to tell me what to do instead. Give me an order!"

The situation was spiraling out of control. They both knew it. Fear flared up briefly when Emily realized that she wouldn't stop before Hotch revealed at least some of his emotions; the urge to know what he felt stronger than the awareness that this moment already had changed everything between them. Her words had crossed a line and she couldn't undo them. So what did it matter if she tried to provoke him even more?

Emily stepped back to the edge of the table and pulled at Morgan's sweater that she still wore. "You want me to pull this off?" She leaned back. "Are you in the mood for another _ordered_ f...?"

"I said stop that!" Hotch nearly jumped at her, teeth gritted, face distorted. His hands grabbed her shoulders again and he shook her, his weight pushing her even further on the table. He lost balance and supported himself against the table to not completely force her down.

This time Emily hadn't planned the kiss. It was the result of their closeness, dangerous emotions and the physical need to prove that they were still alive, that none of them had died today. Not as harshly as the kiss before that had only been meant as a provocation. It was softer and exposed her feelings. _So what! _The situation was out of control anyway.

Hotch didn't break the kiss immediately like before. Instead she felt him respond, pushing her down gently, pressing his body against hers. Oh yes, she could feel him _really_ respond!

When he stepped back suddenly her body felt cold. As swift as the darkness had surrounded him, it was gone again. He was reclaiming control over the situation.

"Why?" He asked and she was confused at first, didn't know what he was talking about, until she realized that he had picked up her earlier request to ask her why she had been so quick to trade her life for his. From her last kiss he had to know what she was feeling, but he was a profiler. He needed to verify the theory.

"You know why." She simply said. "But I don't know why you wouldn't let me." It was the truth. She knew he was attracted to her, knew he cared for her as a member of the team. Everything else though was a blur.

Emily felt naked under Hotch's stare, defeated. "I'm not like Doyle." He eventually said and the way he almost spat when saying his name gave at least some of his feelings away. Nonetheless she couldn't be certain whether he just didn't want to be compared to him or whether it was her relationship with Doyle that affected him. Let alone that it was no answer to her question. She needed more, but he wouldn't give it to her, she could see it in his eyes. Aaron Hotchner, unit chief was back. There would be no more answers.

She pushed herself up from the table and headed out. "Don't bother! I'm taking a cab." Emily felt his hands trying to hold her back as she brushed against him. It was a futile attempt. They were a million miles apart.

############

**To be continued**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: This was supposed to be the last chapter, but my favorite H/P couple just wouldn't let me end it as simple as I originally had planned it. And instead of writing the longest chapter ever and letting you wait for long I decided to split it up and update more often. **

**This chapter eventually proved to be necessary for some insight into the characters, their emotions and first reactions after their fight in the last chapter. An interim stage to connect their physical need for each other to their feelings. **

**There will be probably two more chapters with mostly H/P interaction. I have some ideas how to end this and there will be perhaps one or two twists you (hopefully) don't expect (I didn't expect them neither, but hey, what sleepless nights can do to you...). The following chapters also will be a little "steamier" than this one. I learned from your reviews that most of you enjoy the subtle and/or explicit tension between Hotch and Emily. ;-))**

**So I hope you don't mind the prolongation and continue to supply me with your wonderful reviews. It's always so exciting to me to find out what you think.**

**Disclaimer: CBS owns this wonderful show called Criminal Minds. No copyright infringement intended. Everything I do is just for fun. **

The neat stack of files that Hotch had collected had fallen off the table and lay on the floor now. A result of his previous discussion with Emily that had gotten kind of... physical at some point. It was almost symbolic. His efforts to be organized and controlled had surrendered to her force of nature.

He bent over and started to pick up the files, piling them up again. The way of the world - at least his. Something happened and it spun out of control only to make him overcompensate afterwards.

The evening at Emily's apartment had vaulted him into a world of uncertainty. Instead of using the opportunities he had had nothing better to do though than to deny what had happened between them and get back to business as usual. _You ditched me!_ He remembered her words and they still hurt. The truth always hurts the most.

Sometime Hotch had started seeing only the risks and not the chances anymore, always three steps ahead in the future, never in the presence. He wasn't living; he was ensuring that his life spun out of control as little as possible.

Perhaps it came with the job. Seeing all these terrible things definitely had an influence on personality and characteristics. And what Foyet had done to him and his family for sure hadn't made things any easier.

So it had been the logical consequence to dissect what had happened today, to identify the risks and eliminate them. Except that the alleged risk of Emily's death wish had disappeared into thin air only to be replaced by the very real risk that he had ultimately screwed it all up because of his reproaches and his inability to talk about what he truly felt. Yet screwing it all up somehow in a twisted way offered comfort, because it would turn back his world to what it used to be. Hotch knew that he was banking on the fact that she was a member of the team, that she would always be a part of his life no matter what. This provided though that he would be entirely satisfied with the two of them just being colleagues and friends and not even his urge to keep things in order could persuade him of this lie.

Suddenly he was tired to death. He put the last file on the table. Time to drive to the hotel. However the prospect of an empty hotel room didn't exactly entice him and he was tempted to make up some pretense to go and look after Emily, to make sure that she was safe and sound. But the paralyzing fatigue whispered into his ear that it was better to delay any possible conversation until he knew his own mind better, until he had found out how to deal with the consequences that would certainly be there if he decided to go astray (and no matter how you looked at it that was how he felt about it, because he was the unit chief and his longing for Emily was contrary to the rules, period). Deep down he was aware that he already had made a decision long ago, that being with her was the only possible choice. He just didn't know how to suit the action to the word; let alone that he had to tell her for starters. But not tonight. Tonight he was too tired.

Hotch sat down and got out his pen. It wouldn't do any harm to write his report first.

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Emily's anger vanished on the way back to the hotel. What remained was the burning sensation of what she had said to him, what she had done. Kissing Hotch to get a rise out of him! The end not always justifies the means. And it hadn't even been worth one's while. Yes, he had reacted to her physically, but mutual attraction already had been proven and wasn't the point. So the nagging question was still unanswered what she was to him besides a prettily distraction.

Her words and behavior had been way out of line. She had to offer her apologies and most likely - hopefully - he would accept them. And then what? Would they act as if nothing had happened again? Trapped in an endless circle?

The hotel room greeted her with a taunting silence. She didn't bother with her bloody and filthy clothes and dumped them, hung only Morgan's sweater neatly folded over a chair. They would find enough DNA on her bloody blouse that had gone straight into an evidence bag at the crime scene. _Not only DNA of the creepy bastard with Doyle's face but Hotch's DNA too. _Hotch had touched her blouse, when he had been forced to unbutton it, had brushed against her skin in doing so – more or less accidentally. Emily longed for his touch, hadn't given up the hope that he would eventually open up and talk – _really_ talk, not pull rank on her and give her orders like he did before. She had run out of options. It was up to him now.

The hot water of the shower warmed her body, but she wasn't able to get rid of her inner cold. On a scale of 1 to 10 this day definitely rated below zero. She let the water splash right into her face. Maybe she was crying, maybe not. She could as well pretend that it was just water flowing down her cheeks.

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It was late when Hotch arrived at the hotel. There were some nighthawks at the hotel bar, but none of his team members were to be seen. His room was on the same floor as Emily's. He needed her nearby, especially after Cyrus and Doyle. As if he could keep her safe, even if he kept the distance.

Hotch briefly considered knocking on her door, but simply passed by. Another chance he missed, another risk he didn't take.

The moment he closed the door of his hotel room behind him, he heard a soft knock and knew it was her – who else would it be at this late hour?

"I heard you." Emily said when he opened the door as if it was nothing unusual that she knew his steps inside out so that she had recognized him in an instant.

She was barefoot, unmade-up, her hair curly as it was when she didn't bother to blow dry it. After several years in the field together he had collected such random facts about her. A fresh and unfamiliar scent surrounded her. Probably she had just showered with the foam the hotel provided and Hotch was distinctly aware that he still had on the same dirty clothes he had worn all day.

Jeans and tank top clung to her body and the images how she had kissed him before, what it had felt like pressing her down on the table, flashed through his mind. Hotch opened the door wide, wanted her to come in, wanted suddenly nothing more than to set his world on fire – if that was what it took to have her in his life.

Emily didn't move though.

"I went too far earlier on. I very much apologize for it." Her serious expression and the formal phrasing told him that - despite the curly hair and casual clothing - this was an official visit. She wasn't _sorry_, she wanted to _apologize_.

"Apology accepted!" Later on he would wonder whether that was the truth, whether he actually could forget about the offenses and the physical approach she had chosen to provoke him. The outcome would be the same. Yes, he could accept her apology and forget about what had happened. He had hurt her and she had rightfully acted upon it, even if she had gotten carried away. Everybody made mistakes and they were no exception.

Hotch had expected Emily to relax and come in now that they had seemingly smoothed things over. When she still didn't move he realized that she was waiting for something else, something he couldn't give her just yet. The paralyzing fatigue had begun to whisper into his ear again. _Consequences. Once you cross the line emotionally you can never go back again. _They had crossed the line before and it hadn't been only physical need. Nonetheless the physical act had been a convenient cover to not have to deal with the emotional implications. Talking about their feelings would make it all too real.

It was ridiculous. Here he was, wearing a gun, dealing with serial killers and every possible human aberration without even blinking, but one look in her eyes, one wistful smile from her and he was lost – and obviously about to lose her as well, because she got ready to leave.

His voice stopped her. "Please..." Pure agony. Hotch didn't want her to leave, but he didn't know what to say to make her stay. Scratch that! Of course he knew or at least assumed what she wanted to hear. But he needed more time to compose himself first, to think it all through. Albeit she had the ability to bring out some of his other - in some cases not so favorable - character traits, that was his essence – deliberate acting without forcing things.

Emily searched for something in his eyes, waiting. He had to say something!

"I need..." Hotch began. But what was it that he needed so desperately that he was at a loss for words? Forgiveness? Love? In the end it all came down to her. "I need _you_." Her eyes flickered with a raw pain that had been there all along. He could see how she forbade herself to believe him, how she tried to do everything but give in to this one feeling she seemed to fear the most – hope.

"I need you." He repeated and was astonished how natural those words felt. "But I also need time to figure things out." Hotch continued and saw the flicker in Emily's eyes die down.

"Sure, never mind!" Her confident answer didn't match her shakily voice. The flicker of hope had died before she had been able to convince herself that it was worth to believe in.

She got ready to leave again and he brought his hands to her hips and pulled her close, feeling her body slightly tense.

"Of course, I mind." He said; their faces so close now that his lips almost brushed against hers when he spoke on. "This is no back up plan for an easy way out. I just need time to figure things out. That's my way of doing this. That's the _only_ way I can do this." Hotch had not much to offer, but he wanted, _needed_ her to believe that what he was telling her was the truth.

Emily studied his face with an ferocious intensity. Sometimes she had that kiss-or-kill look as he called it surreptitiously. He wasn't used to be the target of that look. Then he felt the tension leave her body. Her posture softened and she put her arms around him. Perhaps she had found at least some answers to her unspoken questions in his eyes. Hotch buried his nose in her neck. Beneath the fragrance of the shower gel he could smell her skin and inhaled deeply, memorized the moment. When she pulled back, her hand touched his face and lingered tenderly there before she withdrew it, smiled briefly and went back to her room.

_Consequences_. He would have to deal with them rather sooner than later. Hotch was about to cross the line for good.

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**To be continued**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: In this chapter Hotch eventually comes to terms with himself and his feelings for Emily. Of course that is not as easy as it sounds and there are some complications first. This whole emotional side of their relationship is difficult for me to write, because I always tend either to angst-ridden or steamy, but for a serious approach there has to be something in between. So I hope this chapter has something of everything.**

**There will be one more chapter and I really would like to receive 100 reviews in total for this story. I know that's completely selfish, but still... So here's the deal: Reviewer No. 100 can make a wish for a one shot (as long as Emily is in it and no smut) and I will try to fulfill that wish. So all of you, who maybe haven't reviewed before, but read the story anyway, let me know what you think. And the rest of you, who already reviewed a bunch of times – I can't thank you enough, because you've been there all the way, and I hope you'll stay with me till the end. **

**So please R&R - without your feedback writing is a lonely business. ;-))**

They didn't actually have a deal. It was more like a tacit ceasefire. Hotch needed time and Emily needed patience. Their situation was far from perfect, but everything comes at a price. So they did their job, their daily routine, while adjusting.

Hotch watched her from his office. Emily knew it and it had irritated her at first. Then again he most likely had already done it before all this had started. So she got used to it, even relished the thought and sometimes felt her skin prickle just to meet his dark burning eyes checking her out when she looked up. She dressed more saucy as far as practicable. Most of the time no-one noticed. Blouse and pants were a little tighter than usual; the skirt a little shorter. Sometimes Morgan raised an approving eyebrow and she knew that this was the limit. Everything else would be too obvious.

She didn't know exactly what Hotch had to_ figure out _as he had told her. But she knew that it was driving her crazy. He was in her dreams every night and once in a while it took all her volition not to walk right into his office, shut the damn blinds and...

He was no saint! Hotch was aware that he claimed a lot from her. He was complicated and brooding and there was nothing she could do. This was the only way it worked for him. It would take a few weeks and one day he would just _know_ that he was ready to change his life. It had always been like this. Most people wouldn't understand it, but she was different. The abyss of the soul was no stranger to her.

Until that day she was teasing him. Of course he noticed the tighter tops and pants, the shorter skirts. How couldn't he? It all would have been so much easier, had it purely been physical. Some days he couldn't wait to get home and find release – having watched and fantasized about her the whole day. It was pathetic and ridiculous. He wanted the whole package though. And to get that it took more than just willing flesh. It took the acceptance of the unavoidable – they would have to deal with the question whether they would be allowed to still work together or not. Most likely they wouldn't. Strauss would have a heyday dismissing him because of this ultimate misconduct. But even more it took the courage to let another person get close to him again. Closeness always was a risk and love was the biggest risk of all. The pain, when Haley had been killed, had been unbearable and almost broken him. He wasn't certain whether he would be able to survive something like that again. Especially losing someone right in the middle of a relationship. Yet with the dangers that came with their job it could happen every day.

They both had the same longings and fears. She just dealt much better with it, compartmentalized perfectly – at least on the surface. Right now she had a laugh with Reid. It was after office hours and the others already had gone home. Only Reid and her were still there and discussed some topic very chirpy. She always ensured that she wasn't the last of the team to leave, that she wasn't alone with Hotch. As if she didn't trust herself or him. Teasing was one thing, giving in another. They didn't need more complications on top of it all.

Hotch was about to sign off on some reports when the internal delivery man provided him with a package. Security had been increased after 9/11 and he didn't need to worry about explosives, biological or chemical threats. It was unusual though that a package was directly addressed to him. As a general rule JJ received everything.

The package was an inconspicuous carton. Hotch looked for a sender and found none. That made him nervous. When he opened the carton, it was empty – except for a small white envelope. _Emily Prentiss – in case you survived_, was written on it in a neat handwriting Hotch didn't recognize. The words nonetheless made his hair stand on end.

His hand flew to the phone and he dialed the number of the reception. No-one had seen or could remember who had supplied the package. Too much was going on the whole day and there had been no reason to be suspicious. It was just a normal package. There was always the possibility to check the surveillance tapes, although Hotch highly doubted that they would find anything useful on it. At least they could analyze fingerprints and DNA. But to start with he had to open the envelope. And Emily should be there when he did it. After all it was addressed to her.

Hotch walked out of his office and saw Emily and Reid leaving. "Prentiss!" These days he sometimes called her by her last name and - more often - by her first. Both variants were fine with her since this was the job. It took no profiler though to reveal what he was doing right now. Her full name on the envelope was a potential threat so he had called for the _agent_ (Prentiss) to help him analyze the situation and not for the _woman_ (Emily) he wanted to protect.

Reid and Emily stopped and turned around. "Something has come up." Hotch said and directed his words at her. "I need you in here for a moment before you leave." Emily exchanged glances with Reid who immediately asked whether he could do anything. Hotch thanked him, but refused. Whatever was in the envelope was personal. So - at least for starters - he wanted no other witnesses than himself and her.

Emily went up to Hotch's office. When she heard the doors of the elevator close behind her, taking Reid downstairs, she was distinctly aware that it was just the two of them now. The situation she had always tried to avoid. She wondered what had come up, but all steamy thoughts vanished when she saw the look in Hotch's face and the carton.

They were standing in his office; the carton on his desk between them. Hotch took out the envelope, only touching it with his fingertips. When Emily read the words, she paled.

"What kind of bullshit is this?" She asked, already pulling a pair of gloves out of her bag. They all were always prepared for the worst to happen – anywhere, anytime. Parallel Hotch briefed her about what he had found out so far – which basically was nothing.

In the envelope were some photos and another envelope. Their attention was drawn to the photos first. They were dark and blurry, but they all had the same gruesome motive - Emily in one of Joe Cumber's torture chambers. She wore nothing but her underwear, her eyes were half closed and it was hard to tell whether she had been conscious or not at the time the photographs had been shot. Cumber stood next to her and posed like an angler who just had taken a good catch. In some pictures he was touching her or licking off her skin. In all of them he was smiling viciously. Joe Cumber must have taken the pictures with a delayed-action shutter release. His profile excluded that he had had an accomplice. The fact that he had made a deal with Doyle's stand-in later to decoy Hotch and Emily into a trap was something entirely different, a back up plan and no real compliancy.

Hotch felt the urge to drop the pictures as if they were on fire. "That sick bastard!" He murmured; one of the rare occasions he allowed a curse to slip out.

Emily screwed up her face, the memory how Cumber had attacked her and licked her face during the interrogation suddenly too vivid. Nonetheless she didn't look away, but studied the photos in detail, contemplated and finally shook her head. "I can't remember." She said. "I don't know when these were taken. Perhaps I had passed out."

Cumber had wrapped his arm around her naked waist in one of the photos, leaning his head against hers as if they were lovers. Hotch knew that he watched the past. Nevertheless the familiar feeling of impending loss swelled in him when he saw her that vulnerable and oppressed.

"Do you think it will ever be over?" Her pensive voice pulled him out of his thoughts. When he looked at her wondering, she explained. "Cyrus could have killed me, Cumber could have and Doyle definitely wanted to. I survived all of them and sometimes I feel almost... invincible. But then - on days like these - I think it will never be over, that there will always be someone out there threatening my life or the life of someone I care for."

Hotch didn't answer. He knew how it felt to be "invincible". It was a normal reaction after surviving a life-threatening situation. But he also knew that she was right, that it never would be over, at least not for them, not as long as they did this job. There would always be a threat. No-one was ever really safe. "No." He eventually confirmed sadly. "It will never be over."

"Well, at any rate this is the minor threat of a dead man." Emily said, referring to Joe Cumber. "So tests for fingerprints and DNA are most likely wasted time." Cumber had stalked her and must have known about or at least guessed right her connection with Hotch. It was easy to date a delivery prospectively. He must have done it just before they had arrested him, maybe had been aware that his time was running out and had wanted her to receive this special gift as a reminder of all the pain he had put her through. That he had addressed the package to Hotch to make both of them suffer was the last laugh Cumber had been treating himself to at their charge.

They both knew that Hotch would arrange the tests for fingerprints and DNA anyway, even if he shared Emily's estimation. But they also realized that it was just a formality to close the file, because the investigations would come to a dead end. You couldn't bring charges against a deceased.

When Hotch upturned the second envelope they saw the words on it. It should have been no surprise, but still they both held their breath. _Aaron Hotchner – in case she didn't make it. _

"It's a good thing that you don't need to open this one." Emily quipped dryly, always quick to make a joke at her expense, but of course he had already done it.

There was only one photo inside. Emily was younger and her hair was longer and more curly. She looked happy and smiled brightly at whoever had taken the photo. The picture could have been taken anywhere, anytime, but Hotch just knew that it was a document of her affair with Doyle. He would never admit it, but it was more difficult for him to look at that photo than at the ones showing her in the torture chamber with Cumber. Anyway he couldn't avert his eyes. She looked so beautiful and so pleased that he wondered what it would take to make her smile at him that way. Sometimes life couldn't get any worse. He was jealous of Ian Doyle!

Hotch had frozen and even if Emily could only see the picture upside down she had recognized it instantly. Another of Joe Cumber sick jokes. Irony of fate that Doyle himself had given Cumber photos of her when he had held him hostage as a punishment to show Cumber what he would never have. Joe Cumber really enjoyed sadistic games both physical and mental. The second envelope covered the second possibility - that she actually had been killed (and to achieve the effect it was irrelevant whether Cumber himself or Doyle's stand-in would have been her murderer), although Cumber had known that Hotch would open both envelopes anyway. The one possibility that had almost turned into bitter truth - Hotch being killed - somehow hadn't been an option in Joe Cumber's master plan. All the same Cumber had chosen the photograph to show Hotch what he had lost and would never have. Except that she had made it. Hotch hadn't lost her. It hurt Emily to see though how deeply Hotch was affected by the photo, by the implications, and she wanted him to understand.

"It was Doyle who took the picture." She confirmed Hotch's worst fears and perhaps it wasn't the best way to start this, but she had to prove a point. "It was a sunny day with mild air. We were at his residence where we..."

"Why are you telling me this?" His interruption didn't come unexpected. In fact she had banked on it.

"What is the message of this picture?" Count on her to always say or ask what he anticipated at least. He was confused, frowning. Yet - since it was her - he played along. "I see you." He stated hoarsely.

"Not what you _see_." She corrected him. "What does the picture _tell_ you?"

Hotch was getting slightly angry. What was she trying to prove? That it had been a happy time with Doyle? If that was really true it wasn't something he needed to know, nothing she had to rub his nose in and for sure nothing he would as well share with her.

Emily nodded, understood why he couldn't bring himself to say the words out loud. She had to do it for him.

"I look happy in this picture." He flinched, but she already continued. "But this is only what you see, what I let Doyle see. Of course I wasn't happy at that time. How could I have been? So I pretended, because I would have had to fear for my life otherwise." Hotch was calmer now. He still didn't fully understand what she was trying to tell him. All the more though his mind wandered to other situations in which she also might have _pretended_ to be happy with Doyle, to enjoy it – or perhaps pretending had become redundant at some point, because you couldn't always control physical reactions.

"You shouldn't let this picture get to you." Emily finally said. "What you see is only one piece of the puzzle." She paused briefly and then caught him completely off guard with her next words. "I do the same. I don't let your stoic facade and your ignorance get to me, because I know there is much more underneath. I forced myself in that picture to pretend happiness not less than you force yourself every day to pretend you're _not_ happy. You're so afraid of letting someone else, me, into your life that you rather live in your isolated shell than admit what you want." Her words came faster now. This wasn't something she made up as she spoke. She must have thought about this numerous times before. And she wasn't finished yet. "You..."

"Stop profiling me!" Hotch was still composed but obviously angry now. Angry that she read him so well (he knew that she had that ability, she just didn't show it that openly as a rule), angry that he was exactly as she had described it and was unable to change it, angry that Doyle was still in the room with them even if he was dead and buried. He dropped the photo and took a deep breath.

"Stoic and ignorant." He repeated her words. "I wasn't aware that my behavior... hurts you so much. I thought that you..." His voice trailed off, because frankly he hadn't thought about her feelings at all currently, had been too involved in his own inner turmoil.

When he didn't go on, Emily filled in the gaps. "You thought what? That I would compartmentalize better or perhaps date someone else to fill my inner void?"

At her last remark he felt a sharp sting and she saw the flicker in his eyes.

"Relax, Hotch!" She said and somehow managed to add only a slight amount of sarcasm to her voice. "I haven't dated someone else. Yet." It was too tempting to see the fear flare up again in his gaze when she used that last word. "It's just that... it's hard to stand idly by and watch how you make your own life miserable. And since you make mine miserable too, even I have my limits sometimes." Somehow her original idea to make him understand that what you see not always corresponds to the truth – something he should know as a profiler by the way – hadn't worked out. Obviously when it came to her he was blinded by his inner darkness. "So if there's nothing else we can do today, then I'd like to leave now."

Emily got ready to walk out of his office. Before he was even aware that he had moved, Hotch had walked around his desk in a few quick strides, reached out with his hand over her shoulder and slammed the door that she was just about to open. He couldn't let her walk out on him. Not like this! Not again!

With the closed door in front of her and Hotch right behind her, Emily was trapped. When she tried to turn around, he stopped her with a soft touch between her shoulder blades. "Don't!" His voice was soft and raw at the same time and sent shivers up and down her spine. "I can't do this when you look at me." She deferred to his wish and remained motionless, but couldn't stop her pulse from quickening because of their closeness.

"I might appear to be stoic, but I'm not." He started and suddenly she understood why he didn't want to look at her – couldn't. Hotch was really opening up to her eventually and it was difficult enough for him even without having to watch her reactions. "It's the only way though that I can keep myself from touching you all the time, because that's what I want to do no matter where we are, what we do or how inappropriate it might be." _Where were his hands?_ He spoke about touching her and she longed to feel him. Her body was burning although he didn't even graze her. Even now, in this situation, he controlled himself. _Stoic!_ Or maybe not, because Emily felt his breath in her hair when he went on and could have sworn that he was breathing fitfully. "And I might also appear to be ignorant, but of course I'm not like that either. It's a coping mechanism so that I don't drive myself crazy every time we are working on a case and I send you away with Morgan, Reid or Rossi to interview a suspect, to do whatever that is out of my reach so that I can't protect you even if I know you don't need protection. You could call it the calm before the storm or perhaps it is the calm _within_ the storm and I know we can't go on like this."

His hand reached out over her shoulder once more and he supported himself against the door so that he could lean more against Emily without crushing her. Hotch's other hand went around her waist and he pulled her close, his mouth flush against her ear, then dropping to her neck and softly brushing against it with his lips. She longed for more! He was killing her! Emily tried to turn around, even struggled a little to do this, but he wouldn't let her. "This is what it feels like every day when I watch you." Hotch whispered. "Does it feel stoic and ignorant?" The question was rhetorical of course. He felt her body react, her heart beat quicken, heard her gasps. She had never felt so aroused in her whole life. "No." She finally got out, almost whimpering. God, her voice sounded pitiful!

Suddenly the welcome pressure of his body was gone and she felt nothing but cold instead. When she turned around Hotch had taken a step back, but still stood very close to her. Too close, not close enough. She wasn't sure whether she wanted to pull him back against her or run for her life. The intensity of his words and actions had already been scaring when she hadn't looked at him; now that she stared directly into his dark consuming eyes, it felt as if he was about to devour her.

But Hotch, the master of control, wasn't finished with his interview yet. "So what does it feel like?" Also rhetorical but she played along, fascinated by the contrast between the rigidity of his body and the liveliness in his eyes. "Want." She simply said, because there was no other possible answer. Emily had never wanted another man like she wanted him and that referred not only to their current situation. It was a universal truth and she had given in to it. Maybe – hopefully – he felt the same. But after all the want was only part of the problem – as one may say. _Only one piece of the puzzle._ Nothing was more dangerous than wanting someone so badly you also...

"And what else?" She saw a little flicker of insecurity in his gaze when he asked that. _What else?_ He had told her that he needed her, but that had been the easy way out although it was the truth – she didn't doubt that. They wanted each other, needed each other and were very close to each other. Was that love? Even thinking that word made her flinch. Too serious were the consequences, too profound the impacts. You could find release and leave want behind, but you couldn't escape an essential feeling like love.

Emily hated herself for doing this, but she mirrored his earlier words and actions and also chose the easy way out. "Need." She said and wasn't sure whether it was disappointment she saw reflected in his eyes or sympathy. At least she had to make abundantly clear that this was about more than want for her, whatever this meant, whenever she would be able to find the right words for it. So she told him. "This is not only about want. I need you too."

She probably wasn't aware of it, but he had seen it all in her face. The struggle to define their relationship, to define _them_; her usual facade not in place due to the emotional and physical tour de force he had put her through. The fear to admit to herself that what she felt was really that dangerous four letter word. He didn't blame her for not saying it out loud since he also hadn't been able to. Hotch had only told one woman that he loved her so far and this woman was dead. And he knew that Emily wasn't quick to share her most intimate feelings so chances were high that she also used this special confession very rarely. It would take time to find the correct definition.

Hotch closed the distance between them and instinctively she made a step back, felt the surface of the closed door behind her. For a moment he didn't move and one more time she was taken by his sheer intensity and presence. Then his lips touched hers ever so tenderly and she melted, gave in to the fire. It was the first time they were kissing this way. Not a kiss out of uncontrollable want (her apartment), not a brush against lips because it could be the last time (the basement), not a kiss to provoke or out of anger (their fight), just lips and tongues and unleashed longing. Hence the tenderness soon made room for passion. His hands were all over her as he pressed her against the door and yet she tried to pull him closer. The clothes definitely were in the way. Skin to skin friction was the magic word.

_Want. Need._ No matter what it was, it felt right, even if it should have felt utterly wrong to kiss his subordinate in his office, and that was the moment Hotch _knew_ he was ready and about to change his life. Actually he was right in the middle of changing it.

_Consequences_. They would have to deal with them. Their jobs at stake. Their lives that would intertwine more and more. They would be more vulnerable to the next psychopath who decided to hunt down one of them, because they had so much more to lose now. But despite of this all he was ready to move on – as long as she was at his side.

There was only one issue they still had to talk about. The third person in the room whose invisible shadow always was there. Ian Doyle. Hotch didn't intend to second guess every action, every word and especially every touch with regard to this man he detested from the bottom of his heart.

But he didn't want to mend matters here. Hotch pulled away from Emily to put the envelopes and photographs in an evidence bag. He would prompt the tests for fingerprints and DNA tomorrow. This was more important. Now that he knew what he wanted and was able to act upon it, he didn't want to waste another second.

"Let's get out of here." He said to her.

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**To be continued – and please don't forget to review... **


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: So this is it! The final chapter – and I am relieved and sad at the same time. Relieved because this story was in my head all the time during the last weeks and now I perhaps will be able to concentrate on other things more (real life?) and sad, well, actually for the same reason. ;-)**

**I tried to solve the loose ends and most of all this means that Hotch and Emily finally have a talk about Doyle. Remember that it's my point of view of what might have happened between her and Doyle and of what she might have felt (or not felt) for him. So consider yourself warned since perhaps not all of you share my estimation.**

**Rating for language and - of course, yay! - the much-anticipated steamy H/P scene in the end. (Now don't you scroll down! Read right from the beginning!) ;-))**

**My heartfelt thanks to all of you who read my story, tagged it as your favorite, put it on story alert and reviewed it. Especially the reviews make writing so much fun and are balm for a writer's soul. So let me give each one of you a virtual embrace with this well deserved front page appreciation (in alphabetical order): AB, Alice Prince, AureliaMarie, babygurl0506, brittanydelko4ever, charleantheresas, Cellzo, D, EmmaBerlin, gnilsia, HGRHfan35, HPforever-after, Illyria09, I luv emily prentiss 2012, maggie06, miaa29, moonserenity089, Mydnyte Houre, Nena Cero, Odainath, phoebe9509, PrincessHotch, romiross, Rosajean, sarweber22, springfiry, Tigereye77, vampiremuggle, Withoutatracelover996.**

**I'm still hoping that the review count will reach the magic 100 in total. It would make sooo happy! (cf. A/N of the last chapter) **

**So R&R please! And have a good time!**

**Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. This is for fun only. CBS owns Criminal Minds.**

Her apartment was the obvious place of choice. It had all started there. The hasty release, the shameful departure. Now they would close the circle.

They decided to drive there everyone for him- respectively herself. It was odd enough as it was. Driving together would have exceeded the known limits of oddness.

Their coping mechanisms during the ride were different. Hotch thought about unsolved cases. Emily counted – traffic lights, pedestrians, curves. None of them could escape the images that flashed through their minds though – images of what had already happened and of what would happen tonight beyond that. That was the moment when Hotch stopped thinking about the unsolved cases and Emily stopped counting. It was too exciting, too unbelievable.

Emily was relieved that Hotch had to search for a parking lot while she had the advantage of parking her car in the underground garage of her apartment block. That bought her a little time to reach her apartment first. To arrive there side by side would have implied more oddness beyond any measurable scale.

Yet her head start wasn't as extensive as she had hoped. Already he was knocking on her door. There hadn't even been time for a short look at herself in the mirror. But who was she trying to fool? She didn't need to check her make-up or underwear. She was prepared for exactly this moment and she had been prepared for it each day during the last weeks. Ever since their conversation at the hotel. It only had been a matter of time. She had always known that.

When she let Hotch in she couldn't suppress a smile, because here he was inside of her apartment and any moment they would continue what they had broken off. All the more she was irritated when he passed her by without smiling back at her, without even looking at her, and went straight to the "wall of shame" in her hallway – as she called it. The wall where it had all started between them. He stared at it and just when he was beginning to give her the creeps, he turned round to face her and reached out his hand.

"Come here." He said and his voice wasn't unkind, but it didn't have any husky undertones either, didn't give her the shudders as earlier at his office.

Emily approached him and he grabbed her shoulders - albeit softly - and positioned her with her back against the wall whereas he stood in front of it. That was weird!

"What is it with you and your urge to always trap me with my front or back against a wall or a closed door?" She was trying to relieve the tension that she felt considering his strange behavior by joking, but the joke fell flat.

Hotch gave her a serious explanation instead. "You're a fighter so I have to trap you to make sure you won't dodge my questions."

Now that was even more weird! Emily looked into his eyes and saw an endless darkness that scared her. And suddenly she knew what this was about. There was only one issue that caused his eyes to darken like this.

"Oh, no!" She exclaimed. "Really? You wanna talk about Doyle? Now, of all times?"

"This is exactly the right time." Hotch growled.

"Why?" She insisted. "Because we're both horny and more likely to tell the truth?"

"Because it has to be now." He just said and his firm expression made abundantly clear that there would be no further touch, no kiss, no nothing between them until they had solved this issue. Hotch really wanted to talk about Ian Doyle. Here and now.

"Okay..." Emily surrendered with an exasperated sigh. "Then go ahead – ask me!"

Hotch composed himself. He briefly closed his eyes and then looked at her again. "I know that Doyle was your only undercover mission that required such a close contact with the target." His voice was calm and confident. This had been deep in his mind for a long time, waiting for the right moment to come out. "You wouldn't have been so affected by it, wouldn't have done it at all had there been an undercover mission like this before, because you tend to learn from your mistakes."

Although Emily also thought of it as a mistake she felt a wave of anger. It sounded as if he was lecturing her and she didn't like to be lectured. So she couldn't resist a snide remark. "That wasn't a question."

Hotch nodded. "Yes, I know. I just needed to clarify that I don't haunt myself with the belief that you have done this more than once."

She knew that he had told her for her benefit. Nevertheless the anger about his remark was still there and found its way into her next words. "So now that we've stated the obvious and agreed that I made a mistake, perhaps there is an _actual_ question you want to ask me."

"There are in fact many questions I want to ask you. And they indeed _do_ haunt me." Hotch told her quietly and his honest admission caused the wave of anger to vanish. He was such a strong and unwavering character and yet here he was acknowledging that her past with Doyle deeply unsettled him.

"Okay..." Emily said again, but this time without the exasperated sigh. If he could do this, then she could too. Somehow she owed it to him. "What do you want me to tell you?"

Hotch looked, no _stared_ _fixedly_ at her. The silence stretched and became uncomfortable. "If it was vice versa..." He finally spoke. "...and it had been my undercover mission. What would you like to know?"

Whoa! Now that was a low blow! He didn't look away, not for a second, didn't blink, just watched her reaction and suddenly she realized that this was a very dangerous game. His search for the truth was legitimate, even essential. She hadn't been aware until now though - albeit it should have been obvious - that it also was a balancing act. Reveal too much and be caught forever in the middle, reveal too less and forfeit the chance to be trusted. By turning the tables he ensured that she would give him the right amount of information by letting him answer the questions in her stead.

Despite her awareness of the precarious situation Emily endorsed his approach and played along. Maybe this way it would be easier to talk about it. "I would like to know how you managed to fake an entire relationship. This wasn't something that lasted only for a few days. There was no easy way out. To fake feelings for such a long time..." Her voice trailed off, lost in thoughts, but she pulled herself together. "What does it take to do this?"

It was the obvious first question, the basis of everything else.

"First of all you need the conviction that you're doing the right thing and you need, of course, the talent to act." Hotch's answer came without hesitation. This was fairly harmless terrain. At least compared to other tacit questions. "But you can't pretend to be someone else all the time. So you have to let your real personality shine through here and there to establish a connection between reality and pretense." He stopped when he saw that she nodded in confirmation of what he had said. "Nonetheless such an approach can't completely avoid that the lines blur sometimes, that reality becomes more and more only a distant imagination while pretense turns into something real, because there is nothing else to hold on to."

He had nailed it! Emily very rarely cried, but that last part about pretense turning into something real had brought tears to her eyes. How often had she told herself that Doyle _wasn't_ her real life, that it all would _end_ sometime. But the end never came. And pretense became her reality. It had been difficult at the beginning, agonizing as weeks and months passed by and almost broken her in the end.

Hotch swallowed when he noticed her emotional reaction to his words. There was no doubt that this was exactly what she had went through and he regretted it with all his heart. They were only talking about the basics and yet it was already getting to her, affecting her deeply. He knew that she probably had had counseling after her undercover mission since this was standard procedure to make sure that the emotional damage stayed within tolerable limits. So he could merely guess what she hadn't told her counselor, what she had held back until today. As far as he knew her most likely she had held back a lot. Emily pressed her hands against the wall behind her. It was heartbreaking how she was longing for someone to hold on to and didn't dare to reach out to him. As difficult as it was, he also didn't reach out to her. This wasn't the time for consolation and actually it would get worse before it hopefully would get better.

"What else would you need to know?" They were far from being done and his exchange of verbs - _like_ for _need_ - was intentional. Not so harmless terrain anymore.

"I would _need_ to know..." She had registered the different wording and knew where this was going. "...how it felt to be someone else even in the most intimate moments." Emily kept her word choice vague on purpose, spared him the details. They both were aware what she was talking about. Hotch probably had enough unwanted images of her and Doyle floating around in his head; she didn't want to add another one.

Emily felt the wall behind her, increased the pressure of her hands against it until it almost hurt – everything to take her mind off her worries. _Please let him understand! Please don't let it all go straight to hell! Please..._

"Well, the thing with physical intimacy is that one can only pretend so far." Hotch's voice was still calm despite the blunt topic. He didn't need to specify. If he – as a man – had been undercover it would have been impossible to fake an intimate relationship. Anatomy would have required the real thing. And although a woman in the same situation had an ample scope to pretend, in the end it amounted to the same thing - without any physical response there could be no convincing intimate relationship and as a consequence the cover would be blown. When Hotch spoke again it was him this time who spared her the details. "There is a difference between detesting a person's character and a person's appearance. A good undercover agent has to have the ability to separate the one from the other to deal with the requirements of the exceptional situation to get _that_ close to a subject."

Emily had feared for her life the first time she had been with Doyle – that way. Unnecessarily so as it had turned out. She had been prepared to come up with some lies about how she didn't feel well, how it all was too soon, assuming that it wouldn't work, that her body would betray her. And it had betrayed her – but not in the way she had expected. When Doyle had touched her she had felt no disgust. This man, this _murderer_ - for God's sake - had had the ability to touch with a tenderness and aptitude that had allowed her body no way out. Instead of _having_ to fake it, she had desperately _tried_ just to fake it and eventually given in when her reactions had made it all too real. Doyle had been attractive and simply a good lover. After a while it had become easier for her to sleep with him than fake the rest of the relationship. In bed there had been no haunting thoughts, just physical reactions; everywhere else she had needed to control her words and actions in every way. Emily felt sick because of what she had done. No apology would wash this sin away. And despite her long gone belief in religion she thought of it as a sin. No other word implied better what had happened. She didn't regret that she had slept with Doyle for a profile – that had been part of the job. She despised herself though for what it had done to her – the slow change into someone else. She had almost lost herself back then and once in a while – on days like this – she wasn't sure that she had come back at all.

"You _are_ a good agent, Emily." Hotch - interrupting her penance, watching her closely. Obviously he had given up his approach to let her pose the questions and confess in her stead; her reactions too moving, her inner uproar too apparent so that he addressed her now directly. "And that tells me that you must have been a good undercover agent back then. So I assume you _had_ the ability to separate the man from the monster to be able to get... intimate with him. I understand how you managed to do it, how you were able to get through it."

No, he didn't understand _anything_. She didn't _get through_ it. She had betrayed herself and in a way had betrayed him hereby. Suddenly she felt like drowning. "I can't do this!" The words slipped out before she could hold them back and she got ready to turn away from Hotch.

He just raised a hand to stop her, but didn't touch her. "See? This is why I trapped you. When you're cornered you fight back."

Emily didn't respond and he could see that she was weighing her options. At least she didn't make any more attempts to turn away from him.

"I won't forgive you." Hotch said quietly and with that he had her full attention. Somehow this was what it all came down to. Forgiveness. "I won't forgive you, because I can't. The only person who can forgive you, who _has_ to forgive you are yourself."

"How could I?" Her words were almost inaudible. Emily still stood there with her back against the wall, half turned away from him, the fight-or-flight response almost overwhelming.

"Well, perhaps I can help you." She hadn't anticipated his soft touch. Hotch reached out his hand and caressed her face tenderly. His fingers found their way to her neck and down her arm, until they came to rest on her hip. He slipped his hand under her shirt, touched warm skin and drew lazy circles with his thumb. A touch that was as exciting as comforting. _But why now? Why touch her now when he had avoided it all the time?_

Emily's thoughts were racing and she closed her eyes. Looking at Hotch was too much of an emotional overload right now. In the past she had been able to deal with either her guilt concerning Doyle or her feelings for Hotch. The two components combined were just too much.

"Do you want to know what I see when I think of Doyle and you?" He didn't have to add _in bed together_. It was fairly clear anyway. Emily couldn't answer. All energy had left her body. She wondered that she was still steady on her legs. So she just shrugged, even if she didn't feel certain that she wanted to know. Not certain at all.

"At first I see you both and... it tears me apart." She could hear it in his voice - strained and yet strong - how difficult this had to be for him. "But then _Doyle_..." Saying his name always was the hardest part for Hotch. It came out like a spit. "...vanishes and I only see you. Because you are all that matters."

"What if that's not enough? What if one of us will never be able to forget?" Emily voiced her deepest fears, whispered them with her eyes still closed. Perhaps this was just a dream; she would wake up and nothing would have happened. Doyle would have never existed. _If wishes were horses... _

"You think it's realistic to forget about something like this?" Hotch's fingers continued their slow dance on her skin that made her dizzy and woke up the butterflies in her stomach. Then without a warning his hand moved higher under her shirt, reached her bra and brushed over the silky lace. Her eyes flew open. She sucked in a sharp breath. This wasn't something she had excepted. It didn't... feel right. Yet she felt her body respond to his touch. How could she not?

"So what do you feel?" Hotch asked almost casually.

"What?" He was right. She was a fighter. Emily felt the energy return, felt anger burn. _What was he trying to prove?_

She had grabbed his arm with the aim to stop him, but remained motionless, wasn't sure what to do, how to react.

"You didn't expect this. And even if I assume that you want this in general, right now you think of it as inappropriate." Well, thanks for giving her this nice wrap up of how she felt! But then, all of a sudden, she realized where he was going with this. "Yet..." Hotch added. "...you can't prevent your body from responding to my touch, now can you? It's as simple as that."

So he knew! All the time that Emily had tortured herself with possible scenarios how to tell Hotch about her and Doyle without really _telling_ him, he already had known.

"I won't pretend." Hotch eventually said after a brief pause. "I tried not to care, but it doesn't work. And I don't want to deny. Therefore I have to accept. What happened was long before we met and part of your job. Do I hate the thought that his hands touched you? Yes! Does it worry me that you were attracted to him in some weird way, had to be to play your role perfectly? Yes!" Emily flinched, but his following words made up for it. "Does it affect my feelings for you? No!"

It would have been too much to crave for salvation. Even acceptance was better than expected. And suddenly the capability to forgive herself was within reach. There was only one obstacle left. However it was an obstacle that had the potential to destroy the fragile trust they had just begun to rebuild. But it was out of the question to stop now. They had to conclude this to begin anew.

"What if I told Doyle that I love him?" Emily spoke so quietly that Hotch thought at first that his imagination was playing tricks on him. But it didn't - although her next words were barely a whisper. "Could you _accept_ that too?"

Hotch never would have known. Doyle was dead. There had been no witnesses to her confession. But _she_ would have known and Hotch had made unmistakeably clear that they were done with holding back and pretending.

Emily felt Hotch's hand pull back from under her shirt. When the cold air replaced his warm touch she felt tired and defeated. _So this was it? After all they had been through had she finally pushed him away?_

Hotch didn't know what to say. He knew that he should say _something_. After all he had been the one who had started this and her admission didn't come out of the blue. Somehow he had led her there. Emily had almost lost herself in the virtual reality of her undercover life; the intimate relationship with Doyle her last resort that had kept her sane. He had been aware of all this. It was like a basic arithmetic operation when you knew her. You just had to put two and two together. Yet Hotch had needed her confirmation that he had gotten it right. Now that he had it, he could leave it all behind, forget Doyle. Conveniently he had skipped the part what she might have felt for Doyle in the course of all this. He had told himself that he would ask her about it later. When their relationship was stronger, when he was sure that an honest answer wouldn't carry the risk of breaking them apart. _Because you knew what her answer would be! Because you're afraid that this is the one thing you won't be able to forgive and forget!_

When Hotch remained silent, Emily spoke again and he could hear the desperation in her voice. "I thought you wanted to talk about everything and this... even if it's... it happened and I can't take it back no matter how much I want to. You got it all so right that I thought you'd understand this - even this - too." He didn't respond and noticed with a fierce satisfaction that this reinforced her desperation. Although she tried to keep her voice steady, it was shaky and unconfident when she went on. "Of course most of the time I just played along, said it because he had said it before." She probably wasn't aware of it; nevertheless her words hurt Hotch even more. He hadn't been completely certain how deep Doyle's feelings for Emily had been, but her casualness was a clear statement. Doyle had loved her and told her every little while. _Well, otherwise she wouldn't have been his maximum loss, now would she? _

Hotch perceived his surroundings with a sharp clarity. The dim light in her apartment. The muffled sounds from outside. Her rapid breath. It was what he did when things threatened to get out of control - see the big picture and not concentrate on a single detail only. He didn't want to be angry. Rational thinking told him that Emily had had no other chance during her undercover mission than to develop feelings for Doyle. That - even if the wording was the same - this had been a different kind of love. Weird, twisted and dark. No threat at all to what was between them.

Her next words confirmed that. "Looking back it's all like a bad dream and I don't recognize myself. But back then... sometimes when there was nothing but this endless darkness around me... it felt right to tell him. It held the darkness in check, stopped it from consuming me completely."

It should have been so easy. _Tell her that it's okay. That you understand._ And in fact he understood. Nonetheless Hotch felt an irrational and blinding rage. He had been controlled and rational when it came to her for such a long time, had even _accepted_ - and it hadn't been a lie when he had told her - that she had slept with Doyle. But shouldn't there be a limit somewhere? Was he really supposed to understand _everything_? Hotch was done with political correctness. He didn't want to be rational and in control anymore. He...

"Hotch?" Her hand touched his face. She sensed that they were drifting apart, unaware that touching him was not a good idea right now.

Her touch burned like fire. Hotch had grabbed her wrist and pushed her back against the wall before he had been able to think through what he was doing. His body pressed against hers, but she didn't put up any resistance. He froze in place and let time lapse away, wasn't sure whether he felt his heartbeat flutter anxiously or hers. His outburst had been a catalyst for his fear and frustration. No matter how often he had told himself that he was prepared for this discussion, no matter how much he was convinced that it was essential for them – he was hurt much more than he was willing to admit, right now and hereafter. And he didn't know how to heal this wound.

"Love..." Emily said hesitantly and the word alone set his teeth on edge. "...it has different manifestations." Her lips were so close that each word sent a soft breath across his face. "You and me we both have the ability to plunge into darkness if need be. And it was only in the endless darkness that I felt it. So I hope you know that I didn't _really_ love him." She didn't say his name, didn't say _Doyle_ and the message was clear - he was just anyone from her past, not relevant anymore. When she spoke again Emily looked straight into Hotch's eyes. "I didn't really love him, not like..." She couldn't say it out loud. It was too soon, too much, wrong timing. By all means she didn't want this special confession to be remembered as a defense mechanism. "I know that it hurts." She whispered instead. "Believe me I know." If someone had told her several years ago that misguided love could cause that much pain she wouldn't have believed it. Now she knew better. "It's a good thing though that we feel the pain. Imagine what it meant if we didn't."

The tension slowly left Hotch's body. He felt sore as if he had been in a fight and in a way he was still fighting against his demons. But she was right. Not feeling the pain would have meant that they had no feelings for each other. And it wasn't a one-way street either. He was hurt, but she had admitted that she was hurt too, could feel the pain he felt. He let go of Emily's wrist, but didn't step back. Her hand touched his face again and this time the contact was welcome, warm and comforting. Somehow the air around them had changed. Hotch could sense it. The darkness was backtracking. When he closed the small gap between them and kissed her, her lips promised him there would be a future for them. Doyle's shadow no longer was in control. They had debunked his legend.

When Hotch broke their kiss off this time, it was only to look at her, to take in what was happening to them.

"Pull that off." He said hoarsely and gave her shirt a tug. She didn't need to be told twice. The shirt dropped to the floor, followed by his jacket and tie. While he was kissing and tasting and feeling everything with a sensory overload she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, both wanting finally to touch skin to skin.

The friction was marvelous. Their bodies tangled up in each other. The sensation of naked skin. If they continued that way they wouldn't last long, but Hotch didn't intend to repeat their first time. This was supposed to be different.

He grabbed her shoulders and switched their positions so that he was now the one standing with his back against the wall. Emily looked at him confused albeit he had to admit that it was the most sexy confusion he had ever seen. Her hair was tousled and one strap of her bra had slipped. He couldn't tear his eyes away from that sight, imagined what it would feel like touching her _everywhere_.

"Hotch!" Her voice interrupted his daydreams (although they would soon turn into reality, yet right now that was what they were – daydreams) and he remembered why he had switched their positions.

"No more traps." He explained to her. "You're free to go – or to stay."

This didn't diminish her confusion. "Well, since this is my apartment I won't leave in any case." She smiled mischievously when she sized him up. "And I think you should better not leave either, because you'd be arrested for public nuisance. But still... thanks for the offer and for setting me free – I guess." Emily frowned and suddenly became serious again. "We've smoothed things over, haven't we?" She had assumed this due to his behavior, but now she wasn't so certain anymore. Sex wasn't a cure-all. This had to be the real thing. "You know, I _really_ would hate having to break this off _again_." She leaned against him and the sensation of her soft skin made him growl.

"Yes, we have." God, she loved his voice like this. Deep and sexy and... urgent. She was driving him crazy and she loved every second. Emily knew that they wouldn't last long this time. But there would be another time and another – they had all the time in the world. No need to rush things. Or maybe, yes, rush it, because he was undoing her pants right now and his hands were very unerring and this felt so good...

Her breath became increasingly erratic and Hotch smiled inwardly that he wasn't the only one about to lose control. In fact he planned on making her lose control much more and had several ideas how to do this. Despite his own quickened breathing he managed to speak. "So now that we start all over again, shouldn't we take it slow?"

"Yes." Emily seemingly agreed, but fumbled with his belt simultaneously. "Next time." Her last words were muffled, because she was already kissing him again. Well, perhaps the slow teasing would have to wait. This was just too good.

The room was silent except for the soft sounds of their bodies. Their shadows were moving slowly at first and eventually adjusted to a faster pace to find release.

Acceptance. Forgiveness. Salvation. So much more than they had ever hoped for. The wounds were healing.

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**The end**


End file.
